


Only a Stone's Throw

by JodyNorman



Series: The Legacy [9]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, Psychic Bond, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 10:51:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1938141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JodyNorman/pseuds/JodyNorman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is undercover when he's caught in an explosion that leaves him trapped in his cover persona and his friends thinking he's dead.  Before long, the truth is out, but Jim is no longer the same man his Guide and friends once knew.  They're not sure how to get Jim back, but they know they have to try, whatever the cost may be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only a Stone's Throw

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Sensory Overload #6

          Jim sat on the deck of the boat, leaning back and enjoying the mid-June sunlight. To all appearances, he looked as if he were simply relaxing. His single earring itched, re-inserted after he'd taken on the old persona he'd once worked with when in Narcotics, and he restrained himself from scratching at his earlobe. James Kallini wore one earring as a signature, and that, together with his grey Fedora hat and the suit, would hopefully distract anyone who knew Jim Ellison. At least this drug meet was set in Lacovue, a city down the coast from Cascade, and the detective hoped that he wouldn't encounter anyone who might recognize him.

          The situation almost made him nostalgic for the old days, when all he had to worry about was taking down drug dealers and busting their sources. No Sentinel senses, no panther, no responsibilities that no one else could fulfill– Jim shook himself. That time was over and past, and his life was different now. Just because his Sentinel senses had almost cost a kidnapping victim her life last month was no reason to back away from their use – he and Blair had already had this conversation, and now was not the time to repeat it.

          The meet would be coming down in an hour or so, but until then his only job was to keep an eye on the people and circumstances around him, all the while appearing at ease. Of course, afterward he'd report to Simon, and together they'd figure a way to take these drug dealers out. With Blair, of course.

          He could feel his partner's gaze, and knew that Sandburg had the binoculars trained on him. Not that the anthropologist could tell him from anyone else on the boat at this distance, but he was still looking.

          Ordinarily, they'd have the mental link between them to rely on, but Jim had discovered that it was very hard to think like James Kallini, a bodyguard/assassin/ drug dealer persona he'd created and worked with years before in Narcotics, if he had to constantly talk to Blair as a cop. That mental switch was dangerous to flip in this kind of situation, where attitude was everything. Radiating like the amoral thug that was James Kallini was essential if he was to survive the meet without being discovered as the cop James Ellison. So for now, the link was out.

          And if he passed information on to Blair, his partner couldn't pass it on to Simon without revealing the existence of the link, and they'd both agreed they didn't want to do that. Not yet, anyway.

          "Psst! Hey, Kallini!"

          Jim looked up at the whisper, all his senses on guard as he stood and approached the rail of the boat. Below, a man stood in an old, worn speedboat, bobbing in the waves. Jim produced a wary smile and nodded to him. "Hey, Jack, how's it goin'? Haven't seen you in a while."

          "I've got somethin' for you," Jack said with a smile. "Get in the boat."

          Jim's eyebrows went up. This was a major meet he was attending, and many drug dealers and their underlings were expected to attend. Jack Valasco was a minor drug dealer who had always had aspirations of greatness, and Jim wasn't too surprised to see him here. But to miss the meet? That made all his alarms go off.

          "Why?" he asked evenly.

          Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun, aiming it at him. "Get in the boat."

          Jim froze, silently cursing himself. There'd never been any bad blood between him and Jack, and he'd let that assurance slow his response to the man. _Damn, damn, damn_.

          "Hey," he said, forcing a smile. "I thought we were okay with each other, you know?"

          "We are," said the other man, not looking away from him. "That's why I'm doin' this; I figure I owe you one for keeping me out of trouble with Wood way back when. So get in the boat. Now!"

          Left with no choice, Jim slowly climbed down into the boat, fighting back his own uneasiness with open water as his view of the coastline vanished. Jack had moored the speedboat on the side of the boat opposite the shoreline, and thus any moves Jim made were now out of sight of either Blair or Simon, which didn't help his sense of insecurity. He wished he dared attack the man and wrestle the gun away from him, but although fairly sure he could do it, he had to remind himself that he was in a small boat on open water, far from land and with a number of drug criminals on the boat beside him who might well shoot both of them without hesitation if there was a scuffle. He just didn't dare.

          Following Jack's gesture, he seated himself in the bow of the boat, watching as he pushed off from the curving wall of the vessel that loomed above them. As the speedboat slowly whined away from the boat, Jim could see the drug dealers gathering in the center of the deck and silently cursed again.

          "Hey," he said carefully, "what's goin' on, man? I mean, that was a big opportunity for me, you know? What was so important that it couldn't wait?"

          The man spared him a glance, then looked back at the water. "Not now. Later." He pushed the speed higher, then cut back as the engine whine wavered.

          Jim eyed him, then glanced back over his shoulder, but the boat's bulk still hid the shoreline. Okay, time to call for backup; he did _not_ want to get to shore and find himself in some kind of situation alone. How Sandburg was going to convince Simon of the change in plans he had no idea, but the anthropologist would just have to find a way.

          He closed his eyes and, using the mantra that Blair had taught him in the last month, managed to drop into a light trance.

          "Think of it as if you're climbing down a ladder into the dark," Blair had urged him. "You have to stop to adjust your eyes, and then you need to sort of ring the doorbell to let me know that you want to talk."

          Why he always visualized that 'doorbell' as an old-fashioned doorpull Jim didn't know, but now as he reached for the knotted horsehair rope hanging from the unseen ceiling, he was glad that his partner had insisted they practice until he could do this on his own. He pulled it, hearing a deep chime echo in the distance, and wondered again what Blair perceived when he used the link. He already knew it was completely different from his own version, but experience had taught him that either view of it was accurate, no matter how unlike they seemed.

          He waited until he heard Blair drop into the dark corridor ahead of him and clear his throat, which he knew was his mind's representation of Blair's going into trance. _Chief_ , he said resignedly, his voice echoing slightly around him, _I'm afraid that I–_ "

          Behind him, the boat blew up.

          Jim automatically ducked, the concussive sound striking him with a force all its own, and that, in addition to being in trance, made his dazed response to the explosion slower than it would otherwise have been. He didn't even have time to turn before the falling debris hit him, a spinning lead pipe almost knocking him overboard as he slumped sideways, unconscious before the noise of the explosion died away.

          The last thing he heard was Blair's scream.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair swept the binoculars along the boat, but even with the magnification turned up he still couldn't distinguish Jim from anyone else. He sighed and lowered the glasses.

          "He'll be fine," Simon said gruffly, pausing behind him to look out across the water.

          Blair glanced back at him. "I know," he replied. "I just don't like him doing this without me, that's all." He heard Simon sigh softly, and held up a hand to halt the older man's comment before it was said. "Yeah, I know, I know, he can't do it with me, so we're stuck. But I just don't like it, that's all."

          He felt Simon's hand light on his shoulder for a moment, but the lieutenant said nothing as the anthropologist lifted the glasses again.

          "Hey," he commented, turning the focus dials as he concentrated on the deck of the boat, "I think it's going to start." He gave up the binoculars to the African-American as the man lifted them out of his hands and stared through them. "See, they're gathering on-deck."

          "Yep," Simon agreed, lowering the glasses and staring out across the water. "Looks like it."

          "Huh," Blair said, prowling along the beach they stood on, "I wonder if…" He let the words trail off as he felt Jim reach for the link, a sensation he had tried and failed to describe to the Sentinel. Halting, he turned away from the boat and the sharp gaze of the captain standing behind him, then took a deep breath and closed his eyes, dropping into a light trance with all the practiced ease that years of meditation and visualization had given him. Jim's presence bloomed in his mind, and he smiled.

_Chief, I'm afraid that I–_

          The boat exploded, and Blair went to his knees as the activated link shattered, hearing his own scream echo in the empty spaces that suddenly lay between himself and his partner. A black torrent of vibration and pain cascaded through him, drowning him in a darkness that was sheer and complete, and he didn't feel it as he crumpled sideways into the sand, his position, although he didn't know it, an almost exact echo of his partner's.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Kallini woke, lying still for a long moment, all his senses alert. The smell registered first, and he relaxed fractionally as he recognized it. Hospital.

          No one else was in his room, a perception that he tested by opening his eyes a slit and glancing around. Having ascertained that, he next set to examining himself.

          Sore head. That was his immediate response to his inner questioning. Headache. He blinked, trying to focus on a poster on the far wall. A little fuzzy, and if he stared the image wavered into two, but if he looked away again and back, it was single again, which was good. Probably a mild concussion.

          He glanced around. No IV, no other equipment hooked up to him, and he couldn't find any other injuries. Again, good.

          Now, what had happened to put him here?

          He frowned. Fuzzy images of a boat faded into focus, and he relived its explosion. So that had been what knocked him out.

          So why hadn't he been on the boat? He remembered the drug meet, and he'd certainly planned to be there to take advantage of anything that turned up.

          Jack. Jack Valasco.

          Yes, that was it. The memory was a bit cracked, as if it was missing some of its edges, but he remembered Jack urging him into a small boat and motoring away with him. Then the explosion. It was probably thanks to Valasco that he was still alive.

          Okay, so he owed the man. Not great, but not too bad, either. Jack was small fry, but he'd done well by Kallini, and that was something to remember.

          The door opened, and James looked over, quick instincts urging his reach for a gun that wasn't there. That inherent wariness faded somewhat when he found it was Valasco who stood there.

          "Hi," the man said somewhat diffidently, closing the door behind him and trudging up to the bed, a bundle of clothes under his arm. "How're you feelin'?"

          Kallini shrugged, finding it a somewhat useless gesture while lying in a bed. "Alive." He took a breath. "Which I take it I owe to you."

          Valasco shrugged, dumping the clothes into a nearby chair. "Yeah, maybe. You saved my neck with Woods that time; I figured this might be payback. You remember the explosion? Some of the doctors thought you might not," he added at Kallini's sharp look.

          James looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah." Black, crashing pain abruptly crackled through him, vortices of light echoing through his skull, and he winced, lifting a hand to his head. Somewhere someone screamed, a hoarse cry of despair and denial, and the blackness shattered as if struck by a fist. He took a breath and lowered his hand.

          "Hey, you okay?" the other man asked, looking at him quizzically.

          "So when am I getting out of here?" he asked.

          Valasco eyed him, then shrugged. "Doctors say they're keeping you overnight, but hell, you could probably check yourself out anyway."

          "Good," Kallini grunted, heaving himself up and riding out the shivers of vertigo as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Damn good."

          Jack shifted from foot to foot, then blurted, "I got a job you might want."

          James halted and stared at him, narrow-eyed. "Why?" he asked bluntly. One rescue might be evening the score, but this was going beyond that.

          The drug dealer glanced behind him at the closed door, then leaned closer to Kallini. "I got a deal. I bring in someone to do your kind of work and there's a place for me in Linder's organization."

          "Linder?" The name rang faint bells, but no information came to mind.

          "August Linder," Jack said eagerly, his eyes hungry on James. "Up and coming in the business, got a lot of prospects, especially now that that boat blew."

          "Does he, now?" Kallini said, studying the man. Up and coming in drugs and Linder hadn't been on that boat when it exploded. That was pretty good evidence of an involvement in that explosion to Kallini, and it argued for a man he definitely wanted to be on the right side of. He reached for the clothes heaped in the chair, finding a shirt and pants. "And just how did you know to be there to pluck me off in time, hmm?"

          Valasco looked abashed. "Oh, you know, contacts." He glanced up, their eyes meeting, and James nodded as he pulled off the hospital gown.

          "Yeah, contacts," he said. A pause as he shoved his head and shoulders through the shirt, and he added, "Okay, I'm interested. Let's get out of here." He reached for the pants, and a few minutes later followed Jack out of the room.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair turned restlessly away from the light, snuggling into the darker side of his pillow, then abruptly woke, reality immediately with him as the strangeness of his surroundings registered.

          He lay in a hospital bed, and a glance around told him that it was a private room. He frowned, wondering why he was there. He felt fine, no injuries, nothing, so what–?

          _Jim_.

          The yawning hole of loss suddenly echoed in his soul, and he closed his eyes against it, tears quickly burning behind the lids. The link lay dark and silent between them, and the knot of pain that bloomed in his head when he reached for it forced him to pull back with a hiss. He guessed that whatever the physical basis for their mental bond, its shattering had left its own damage in his brain, and that in and of itself did more to convince him that Jim was dead than anything else could have. Even when Natalie had blocked the link it hadn't felt like this[1], and he turned onto his side, curling into a half-fetal position as tears ran silently down his face and wet the pillow.

          What could he do now? He was Jim's partner; he'd built his life and soul around that, applied his research abilities and his knowledge base to that, and now what did he have to live for?

          He could see his life laid out ahead of him without Jim. His focus would be the teaching and the research he'd trained for, the papers he would publish, the theories he would explore and create. The only excitement he could look forward to now was that of a professor in academia and a researcher in anthropology, studying the very thing he had once used to live. His understanding of Sentinels and their powers and responsibilities, of the relationship between them and their partners, would now be as dry and dull as the living of it had once been exciting and fulfilling. The prospect of meeting new peoples and studying their lives and their beliefs and their understanding of Sentinels, which had once seemed so wide and boundless an experience, was now only narrow and empty and dead.

          Like Jim.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Damn it, Joel, I don't know what to do for him." Simon's voice held a helpless note that the burly Bomb Squad captain didn't ever remember hearing before, and he took a steadying breath before answering, peering across the hospital cafe table at his friend with a frown.

          "Well," he fumbled, then grimaced. "Guess we never considered what would happen to Blair if Jim died first."

          Simon scrubbed his hands across his face. "I never thought he would." He glanced across at Joel and shook his head. "I should've. I should've predicted this; I mean, hell, Jim," he paused, his face twisting for a second as he reined in his own reaction, "Jim told me once that he was afraid of this. He's the cop; Blair isn't. And the kid tries to avoid trouble, it's just…" He ran down and halted, staring out the restaurant window at the parking lot.

          "It's just that trouble seems to find him enough that you thought he'd buy it before Jim did," Joel finished steadily. "And he's not a cop; Jim is– was. Simon, you couldn't have anticipated this."

          "I should've tried."

          "No! Damn it, stop this! Beating yourself up isn't going to help Blair, and it's him we should be thinking of right now."

          Simon shifted his gaze from the window to his friend. "That's just it, Joel, I don't know what to do for him. When that boat blew…" He swallowed, his cheekbones suddenly stark as he turned toward the parking lot again.

          "Tell me," Joel said softly, eyeing his friend with concern. Blair might be the one in the hospital bed, but Jim's death was hitting Simon hard, too, and he needed healing as well.

          Simon looked back at him, but from the blank expression in his eyes it was obvious that it wasn't the restaurant the man was seeing. "I was holding the binoculars, but I'd just lowered them–"

          "Good thing, too," Joel interrupted, "otherwise you might be in the hospital with Blair, with eye damage."

          "–and Blair had started to say something; I think he was going to ask a question." From his set tone, it was clear that Simon hadn't even heard the other captain's comment, and Joel's lips thinned.

          "And?" he asked softly when it was obvious that the other African-American was lost in the past.

          "He didn't even see it," Simon said softly, "but he knew. It was like the blast hit him and Jim together, because he went down as if someone had punched him, and I heard him moan as he passed out." He looked at Joel, his eyes abruptly clear and hard. "Just one word, but I'll hear it in my nightmares for the rest of my life: 'No.' I think he would've screamed it if he'd had the breath."

          Joel looked away, blinking furiously as his eyes burned. "Damn it," he whispered.

          "Yeah," Simon said, his voice tired. "And now he's lying in that hospital bed. You know, I never thought I'd want the kid to talk; seems like you can't shut him up most of the time. But now…" He shook his head, his eyebrows crooked with pain as he met the other captain's gaze. "He woke up about an hour ago, but he doesn't say anything, not a word, and he won't answer me when I talk to him. And his eyes…" He trailed off, then studied his drink, tracing a wet path around the glass with a finger. He looked up at his friend. "You think he'd suicide?"

          "No." Joel didn't even have to think about it. "No, not Blair."

          "Why not?"

          There was a steel in the man's tone that Joel hadn't expected, and he blinked at his friend.

          "What's he got to live for, Joel?" Simon's voice was harsh, his gaze flinty. "Being a professor? Writing papers? Doing research? Compared with what he was, what he's done?"

          Joel frowned at him. "Blair loves that; he's invested years in it. Research, teaching, all of that is what he lives for."

          "No," Simon corrected, " _Jim_ is what he lives for. Jim and the Sentinel bit. He's taken all those skills he's learned and applied them in the field, with Jim. The research, the teaching, the writing… all of that has been his focus because he could apply it with Jim, and make a difference while he did it. Without Jim, all that stuff is… dead for him. There's no point to it. Why shouldn't he suicide?"

          Joel stared at him. "God Almighty, Simon," he breathed, "you sound like you're encouraging him."

          "Good God, no!" Simon exclaimed, waving an impatient hand at him. "Of course not. But that's where Blair is coming from, and unless we can give him a reason to go on from that point, there'll be no convincing him. He'll just curl up and die."

          Joel considered the words for a long moment, memories of the young man he knew tumbling through him. "No," he said with certainty. "You're wrong, Simon." He raised his voice, talking over his friend's attempt to interrupt. "Blair loves life, and living it, and he does it 140%. He'll deal with this the same way, but he'll bounce back. He's got more strength then you think."

          "Damn it, I never said he wasn't strong! But this is Jim we're talking about here! They've been together for more than four years now, and they've been through a lot."

          Joel nodded. "And it's because of that that he'll be fine. Not now, but down the road, he'll adapt, adjust and go on. You'll see."

          Simon stared at him, then turned to stare out the window, his expression closed, shuttered. "I hope you're right."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Sitting in the back seat of Simon's car, Joel studied the young graduate student in the front passenger seat with a frown. Blair's jaw was set, his back straight, his hands clenched into tight fists in his lap. He fairly radiated anger – _no, fury, that's what it is_ , Joel thought warily as he glanced at Simon, sitting uncomfortably in the driver's seat and deliberately not looking at the anthropologist, who hadn't said a word as they drove him back to the loft. Simon had offered to put him up at his own house, but had stuttered to a halt in the face of the furious silence that met the words.

          "No," Blair had said, the one word his only comment during the ride.

          Now, as the car slid to a halt in front of the loft, Joel climbed out of the car with a sense of frustrated relief running through him, unable to settle to any emotion because of the conflict within. He was baffled because he couldn't think of anything to do or say, and relieved because they had arrived and he didn't have much more time to deal with a situation he was unsure of. The two men followed Blair's angry steps up the stairs to the loft entrance, watched him insert a key in the lock and shove the door open, stepping through it in one giant stride. Joel was at least half-prepared for the violent jerk that closed the door in their faces, the portal vibrating on its hinges with the force of the slam.

          The lock clicked, and Simon set his half-lifted foot down on the stair with a thud, his own jaw tight.

          "Damn you, Jim!" The shout echoed faintly to their ears, and Simon turned back to the door, lifting a hand as he glanced at Joel.

          "We need to tell him," he said, urgency underscoring his uncertainty.

          Joel caught the closed fist before it could pound on the portal. "Not now," he said, tugging Simon toward the stairs. "Let him work his way through this part first."

          Simon hesitated, then nodded, a muscle jerking in his jaw as he followed his friend down the steps.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair took a deep breath, looking irritably around the kitchen. He'd paced his way through the house, anger surging through him all the way. Damn it, what right did Jim have to do this to him? _How can he just walk out on me like this?_

          He whirled toward the stairs, then turned quickly back at the brief feel of cool crockery against his outflung arm, the sound of shattering glass and the puff of air and debris around his feet. He studied the broken crystal for a moment, then lunged forward to grab another glass out of the dish-drain and throw it against the far wall.

          The resulting crash was very satisfying, and he automatically chose another one and hurled it, smiling at the cacophony that resulted. Fury surged through him, the smile dying as he emptied the dish-drain and then the cabinet with rapid moves, not even watching the last few shatter. He glared around for something else, saw a coffee cup set beside the sink and grabbed it, lifting it to throw before he saw the design etched on its side and realized it was one he'd given Jim last Christmas, the one that Jim had used the morning before they'd left to go to the boat.

          Grief suddenly broke through the wall of anger, and he cradled the cup to his chest, bowing his head against the sobs that abruptly racked him. "Damn you, Jim, damn you, damn you, damn you!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "So you see, you're his beneficiary."

          Blair stared at the men sitting across from him for a long moment, then rose and paced across the room, pausing to stare out the French doors at the patio. "What am I supposed to do about it?" he asked tightly, trying to rein in his temper.

          It had been three days since the boat blew up, two days since he'd come home from the hospital, and in all that time he'd eaten little and slept less, and his anger, although lessened, still surged through him at times. Grief, too, had caught him unawares occasionally, as it threatened to do now, and he blinked back the tears as he turned to face them, catching Joel's quiet look of support and understanding.

          "Nothing," the Bomb Squad captain said gruffly. "Legally, Jim can't be declared dead without a body, and the Coast Guard hasn't found one, so the will's in stasis for now. But the loft is yours, regardless, since he stated that in the event of his disappearance or death it reverted to you as owner."

          Blair looked down at the small stack of papers. "He never told me that he had a will." His voice caught on the last word, and he swallowed. _Or that I was in it_. "When–? When did he do this?"

          "He had a will drawn up when he married Caroline," Simon answered. "For a long time after the divorce he didn't change it, but when he met you–" He stopped to clear his throat. "After he met you, specifically after dealing with Lash, he had it revised, with you as the beneficiary rather than her, and gave me a copy."

          Blair turned away again, trying to swallow around the huge lump in his throat, and for a long moment he couldn't force words through the obstruction. So all those times early on when Jim had implicitly threatened him with the house rules had been mere show, not real. Jim had committed to him far more, and much earlier, than he himself had ever guessed.

          "I see." The words were only a whisper, and he took a breath, rallying.

"I'm moving out."

          Only silence answered his statement, and he turned. "Damn it, I can't stay here, it's too– There's too much. I have to go, find my own place again, and this isn't it!"

          "Whatever you say," Joel said equably, his even words cutting off Simon's reaction. The other captain took a breath, then nodded brusquely.

          Blair nodded, his fragile hold on his equilibrium strengthening slightly with the accepting words. "Right… Right… I'll– I'll let you know how it goes."

          "Damn straight you will," growled Simon as he stood. "This isn't a goodbye, Sandburg; we've got a memorial scheduled a couple of weeks from now, and don't you forget it. If you want to say something at it, let us know."

          Blair nodded, the words only striking the surface of his soul, barely registering enough to stay in his memory. "Sure, sure, no problem, I'll do that."

          "See that you do," growled Simon as he exited the front door. Joel followed him after a long glance at Blair and a quiet nod.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Thanks, Toby, I appreciate this," Blair said, trying to smile as the young man opened the apartment door to him.

          "Hey, man, I understand; you need your space, that's all!" the blond bubbled as he led Blair inside the three bedroom building. "You're welcome to stay, like I said over the phone, room enough for two here, your own room, half the fridge, all you gotta do is pay half the utilities and rent, and that's pretty cheap."

          Blair nodded half-heartedly as he trailed the graduate student across a living room filled with jumbled piles of books, notepads, dirty clothes, gum wrappers, and an occasional used glass or cup. He couldn't help wrinkling his nose, and his mind supplied him, unasked, with a vision of the loft, grand, spacious, and clean, which he turned away from hastily.

          "Hey, that all you brought?" Toby asked as he stopped at a bedroom doorway, motioning Blair through it and staring at the backpack the other man wore. "I mean, hey, what about books and stuff?"

          "This'll do," Blair said, trying not to visualize the three neatly organized bookcases in his own room at the loft. "You understand this is a trial basis for a few days," he added, unable to bring his customary tact to bear on the situation.

          "Yeah, sure," nodded the younger man. "No problem! Take all the time you want. You, uh, have a falling out with your cop friend?"

          "He's dead," Blair said bluntly as he dumped the backpack on the bed, not letting himself think about the words as he said them.

          "Oh," Toby answered softly. "Sorry." He took a breath, then when Blair didn't reply, he rallied. "Supper's on the house, whatever you want, just let me know, huh?"

          Blair nodded absently, not looking at him, and felt Toby's relief as he exited, closing the door behind him.

          The anthropologist looked around him, sinking down to sit on the bed. The room actually wasn't that bad – the bed was full-size, the dresser opposite it was sturdy and not small, the desk against the window was smaller than his own but decent. The window looked out over a neighborhood much like his and Jim's, but the age group was much younger, clearly students, for the most part. Somewhere he could hear the beat as someone played music with the bass tuned high, and he grimaced.

          He hadn't lived, or worked, or even visited a student neighborhood in several years, and now the ambiance that he once would have fallen into as neatly as a bee into a flower seemed alien and annoying.

          But at least nothing in this room was linked to Jim, and that emptiness was something he'd been seeking desperately. He could build something of his own here, something free of the loft and of Jim, and he clung to that thought as he unpacked his few belongings.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          By the next evening Blair knew it wasn't working. He hadn't realized, or had deliberately ignored, the fact that in seeking to throw Jim out of the equation of his life, he was just as surely exiling himself as well. He wasn't freeing his life of Jim, he was denying him, and there was a strong and significant difference between the two concepts.

          There was nothing in this house that he cared about, nothing to drag him out of his grief or his anger, and he found himself aiming his ire at Toby instead, becoming snappish and sullen, and that simply wasn't fair. The man had done him a favor; he certainly didn't want to return it with this kind of interest.

          He'd quickly found that in leaving everything he cared about back at the loft, he had in essence left himself there too, and he was quickly forced to acknowledge the emptiness that resulted.

          And so he packed his backpack and left, returning to the loft and leaving a puzzled and confused Toby behind with no regrets.

          He stepped through the door, his gaze sweeping across the space with the alertness that Jim had trained into him, and felt only a glad relief to be home.

          "Funny," he muttered aloud as he stepped into his own room to carefully place his backpack in its space beside the door. "I never thought I'd miss the house rules."

          It took a breath for the words to penetrate, and then all the anger and grief surged up again, and he stumbled to the couch and dropped into it, burying his face in his hands as the tears welled. "Goddamn it, Jim, how could you do this to me!" he shouted, the words echoing in the empty rooms.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Time passed, the days painfully slow, and Blair sighed in relief every night when he flipped off the light and curled up under his bedcovers. It seemed that the only escape he had was into sleep, and that only if he didn't dream of Jim. But even that was better than coming home to the always empty loft. No matter what he had to do, whether it was planning for his summer class, doing the research a professor had hired him to do over the next few months, reading new texts, the emptiness was always there, always waiting for a spare moment when he would look up to share something with Jim, and find himself alone.

          The anger waned until it was gone, and only grief remained, welling into his life so often that in the beginning it seemed as if there was no time that he was unaware of the pain. He had shared every moment in his life with Jim, every triumph, every disaster, every excitement. Even the research that he'd done, the papers he'd written, the notes he'd taken, had all concerned Jim in some way, whether in the abstract or in the personal, until all the space in his life was filled, and now there was no space he could call his own that did not have the touch, taste, sound of James Ellison in it.

          Two weeks passed, and the day of the memorial approached.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair stepped out of the car, slamming the door and then checking to make sure the lock had engaged. Not that anyone likely to park at an airport would be interested in his car, but you never knew.

 _Besides, Chief, it's not how much it means to someone else, it's what it means to you. There's always someone who might be tempted. Better not to take the chance_.

          Blair turned toward the terminal with a sigh, hefting his backpack over his shoulder. Jim was always talking in his mind; in fact, from the way the man commented to his life and activities, you'd never know he was gone. It was comforting in a way, but every time Blair came up with an answer to some of the more annoying comments, the emptiness behind the inner conversations echoed in his soul.

          He shook his head as he entered the terminal, trying to distract himself by reading the signs. But the fact that he knew the route from the last time he and Jim had seen Simon off for a vacation made the attempt fall flat.

          Slowing to a halt at the desired gate, he turned into the area and stopped, leaning against one of the pillars as he watched passengers file off the plane. He'd cut it pretty close.

          "Blair."

          He turned, an acerbic comment from Jim thrusting through him about his lack of alertness, to which he silently agreed even as he stepped into Naomi's embrace, wishing that her hug had the same power it'd had in his childhood, that of making every problem outside its circle disappear.

          "I was one of the first off," she explained as she released him, stepping back to look at him. He saw the worried frown knit a line between her eyes as she studied him, but to her credit she didn't say anything, just tucked her arm in his and started back down the concourse in the direction he'd come.

          Naomi was one of the few people he knew who understood the value of silence and didn't have a need to fill it. They'd always shared a deep, wordless understanding that hadn't diminished with the years, and the quiet that fell between them on their way to the parking lot was sober but comfortable, and Blair relaxed into it.

          "Are we going straight to the memorial?" Naomi asked as she buckled herself into the car.

          Blair nodded, backing the car out of its slot and turning it toward the exit.

          "Blair," she said softly as they swung out of the parking lot, "you know that I would've been here sooner if you'd called me."

          He glanced at her, then back at the road. "I know," he said, holding his voice even with an effort, "but I needed to handle this alone for a while. I'm sorry to hit you with it so suddenly, but I figured you'd want to be here for the memorial, and…" He lost the end of the sentence, and trailed off.

          "I wanted to be here for you, sweetie," she answered, her gaze focused on him. "But if you needed to be alone for a while, I understand. I'm here now, though; if you want to talk about it sometime, you know I'll listen."

          Blair opened his mouth, found that the words he wanted to use were too shaky to trust, and closed it, nodding without looking at her. "Thanks," he managed to say, then stared at the road, forcing himself to focus on finding his way to the theater the police department had rented for the occasion.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Standing off to the side of the podium, Blair let his gaze drift across the audience, solemnly awed at just how many friends he and Jim had made in the last few years, and in how much esteem those friends had held them.

          He saw Caroline Plummer glance at him, then away, and watched her for a moment. He wasn't sure what Jim's ex-wife thought of the relationship between himself and Jim – she might even wonder if they had been partners in more than just police work. But she had never asked, and never treated him with anything less than respect, and for that he was grateful.

          Next to her was Stephen, who had crossed over to him to squeeze his shoulder, shifting from foot to foot as he offered his condolences, clearly uncertain how to treat the man who'd been closer to his brother than he himself was.

          His gaze shifted to Joel and Simon, whom he knew had been furtively studying him, and he watched them exchange glances from their place with the officers of the department.

          They knew, better than anyone, what he and Jim had shared, and what he had lost. He knew they were worried about him, and that, together with the fact that they, too, had left him alone when he needed the time meant more to him than he thought he'd ever be able to tell them.

          There were other officers there, too, more than he would've expected, several from other departments as well. Rafe and Brown and the others had been friends to himself and Jim as well, and he knew that all of them missed Jim, too.

          And then there were those who had closer connections to himself and Jim and the work they did. Kane Johnson for one, a younger African-American officer who had worked with himself and Jim and knew them as shaman and Sentinel. The young officer watched the anthropologist with sober eyes, standing next to Kira Randall, a doctoral student from Blair's own department who had also known the relationship between himself and the Sentinel. As had Dane Elliot, a recently returned friend whom he and Jim had helped less than two months before.[2]

          Naomi was off to the side of the gathering, and Blair could feel her affectionate glance on him as he mounted the podium in his turn.

          "When I met him, James Ellison seemed the most restricted, closed-minded, arrogant man I had ever known," Blair began, his gaze roaming over the respectfully silent gathering that stood before him. "But in our time together, I watched him grow into a wider, deeper understanding of himself and others, becoming a friend, a brother and a partner such as I had never known."

          He had spent days writing the speech and meant every word, but the next few minutes slid by without his paying much attention to it, the words rolling off his lips with all the ease that three days of rehearsals had given him. When he finished, he was startled by the roar of applause given him, and he bowed to the group, unable to summon a smile but courteous nonetheless.

          Stepping off the platform, he shrugged at Simon as he paused by the captain. "How'd I do?"

          The African-American grasped his shoulder, his own eyes shining wetly. "You did good, Sandburg," he said quietly. "Jim would be proud of you."

          Joel simply laid an arm across his shoulders and squeezed, not saying a word, and Blair turned from them to Kane's respectful handshake. Kira nodded at him, her silence all he needed, and he passed through the crowd, buffeted by the gentle claps on the back he received from the other officers.

          He met Naomi at his car, opening the door for her and then for himself, then maneuvered it into traffic with a deft touch that he'd learned from Jim.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "I told you he'd go on," Joel said quietly as they watched Blair step into his car and slam the door.

          Simon wiped his eyes with his sleeve, then brusquely blew his nose on a handkerchief. "I know," he answered. "You were right and I was wrong. Thank God for it, too." He shoved his handkerchief into his pocket. "Did you see how he looked, though? Bags under his eyes, he's lost weight–"

          Joel took a breath. "Simon, it'll take time."

          "I know," the other man said bitterly. "It'll take time for all of us. But Sandburg has lost more than all of us. I still worry about him, Joel." He looked at his friend, his own eyes shadowed. "Guess it's habit."

          Joel couldn't force the smile. "I know. But he'll work his way through this."

          "I know he will," Simon replied, staring after the small car turning out of the parking lot. "But I think of his going home, where every single thing he sees has to bring Jim back…" He shook his head, and Joel clasped his shoulder.

          "You miss him, too," he said soberly as they turned toward the vehicle they'd driven to the memorial.

          "Yes," Simon admitted heavily, searching his pocket for the keys as they approached the car. "Every day."

          "I know," Joel said softly, opening his own door and sliding in. "So do I."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It wasn't until that evening at supper that Naomi spoke of the memorial. She'd been quiet all afternoon, only saying a gentle word here and there, but as they sat down to a vegetarian dinner, she looked over at him thoughtfully. "Blair, it always sounds so completely trite to say it, but it's very true. I am so sorry about Jim. You and he were very close when I was last here, and it's obvious that that relationship only grew deeper."

          Blair cleared his throat, his mother's sympathy threatening his self-control as no one else's could, then nodded. "He was a good friend."

          The words were so patently shallow that he winced, and by Naomi's silence he knew she saw it. He paused, then sighed. Why shouldn't he tell her? It wasn't like Jim was there any longer to need his protection, and Naomi could always be trusted with a secret.

          "He was a Sentinel," he said softly, tears stinging his eyes.

          "He was your Sentinel, rather," Naomi corrected, her voice calm. "And you were his Guide. Oh, yes, dear," she said at his look of surprise, "I knew. Who else would have gained your commitment but a Sentinel? That part was obvious."

          She paused, taking a breath. "The other, the partnership, that took some time to realize, but after listening to you during all our talks and reading the papers you published, well, it was clear, too." She looked at him, shaking her head. "I wish that I could help you through this, sweetheart."

          Blair took a shaking breath, his throat hurting. "You told me once," he said hoarsely, "that the only way to deal with life's sorrows was to walk through them and not hide. Does…" He paused to swallow and cough. "Does this get easier?"

          She reached out to touch him, smoothing his hair. "Yes, dear, it does. In time."

          Blair forced himself to swallow and nod. In all of his life, he'd never dared to ask her just how she knew about sorrow, or what death had saddened her, but the pain in her words had never been something he could question, and he couldn't question it now, either.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair stood in the shadows of the hallway leading to Major Crimes and tried to steady his nerves for the task ahead. The lights were on in the room ahead, but all around him the building echoed with silence and darkness. Only a few detectives would be on the nightshift, and they were scattered around the building. The only ones likely to be in the Major Crimes office itself would be a few officers from the dayshift catching up on paperwork or doing a night stakeout or something similar. He'd hoped to find it deserted, but a few officers was better than all of them, which was why he'd chosen to do this at night.

          At last Blair shifted, then, his jaw set, he moved forward, stepping through the doors to the room and pacing through the sea of chairs and desks toward the one he knew best. There were a few people there, but he didn't look around to identify who they were, all his attention on the desk that was as familiar to him as was his own.

          He stood in front of the desk and studied it for a moment, then swallowed and sat down, the familiarity of the move flushing through him. He raised a hand to the handle of the top drawer, grimacing when he saw how it shook, and forced a deep, steadying breath before pulling it out.

          The contents were the regular hodgepodge of stuff common to top drawers, and it only took a moment to extract the few things there that he'd contributed, tossing those he didn't want into the trash can. He worked his way down one side of the desk and then the other, then inspected the top. Both the nearby trash can and the empty backpack he'd brought with him filled quickly, and at last he drew a breath and leaned back, glancing down at the pile he was keeping – a couple of notebooks, some mechanical pencils, a few pens, several boxes of organic teas as well as some individual packets of different kinds, a cold weather scarf he'd found crammed back into one of the bottom drawers, and a second draft of a paper that he'd already turned in some months ago.

 _Not much to show for more than four years of work_ , he thought, fingering the spiral edge of one of the notebooks. But then, what he and Jim had built between them, both here and at home, had been based on other things than the physical. And that was okay; he had more than enough memories to last him the rest of his life. "And I wouldn't have traded them for anything," he whispered, then blinked hard and stood up, hefting the backpack over one shoulder.

          A couple of officers glanced his way, then went back to their own work. _Leaving me my privacy_ , Blair thought as he looked around the room, letting his gaze sweep across it one last time. He'd learned a lot here, experienced a lot, made several good friends, some of them very unexpected ones, like Simon, and earned the good will of a group of people that he'd never thought would ever accept him.

          But they had, and he would always be grateful for that. He'd had adventures here that he never would've expected; he smiled a little as he heard a helicopter coming in to land on the roof, thinking of the time right after meeting Jim, when terrorists had taken over the police station and he'd acted the part of a narcotics officer. Impulsive he might have been, but that incident had earned him a lot of silent respect from quite a few cops, and he'd seen attitudes toward him shift afterwards.

          And then there'd been Lash, and Golden, and the falling elevator, and any number of other events, all of them fading together into a kaleidoscope of colorful images and memories that he wouldn't trade for anything and would never forget.

          But it was time now to go back to his other world, the one he knew as an academic and as an anthropologist, one that he had loved then and still loved now, even without Jim and the roller coaster life he'd introduced the grad student to. He lifted his chin and settled the backpack across both shoulders, stepping around the desk and starting toward the door.

          He was caught by surprise when Simon entered, the man's gaze on him expectant and measuring. Out of the corner of his eye Blair saw Rafe glance quickly over at them and then bury himself again behind the sheaf of reports that had hidden him from the anthropologist before. The shaman sighed, knowing who had called the captain in.

          Simon strode over to his office, unlocking it and gesturing Blair inside with a jerk of his head as he reached in and flicked on the light.

          The younger man hesitated, then shrugged and stepped over the threshold. The police captain followed him, then closed the door behind them and moved around the desk, pausing next to the file cabinet and extracting a large flat package from between it and the wall.

          "Uh, Simon," Blair started, then halted when the African-American handed the package to him. "What's this?"

          Simon hauled out his cigar and set it between his teeth. "It's from the department, Sandburg. Figured it was the least we could do after how long you've been with us."

          Blair hefted the gift, blinking. It was around two feet tall, one foot wide, and maybe three inches thick, and he hesitated a moment, admiring the bright colors of the wrapping. "You didn't have to do anything like this, sir."

          "Are you going to open it or just admire it?"

          The growl was unconvincing, but Blair appreciated the effort at normalcy, and sinking into a seat he laid the package carefully on his lap and stripped off the paper. "Ohmygod," he whispered as he stared down at it, then lifted it upright.

          The certificate was set in a frame of dark wood, and at its top was a picture of all the officers of the department, with Blair among them. Below that were words certifying that Blair Jacob Sandburg had been awarded the status of an Honorary Member of the Major Crimes Division of the Cascade Police Department, followed by a space at the bottom filled with all the officers' signatures.

          He'd wondered why Simon had gestured him to sit in the front row in that last extra picture he'd told the departmental photographer to snap at the updating of the division records. At the time Blair'd figured it was something that Jim had asked Simon to do, but this gift had obviously been planned for some time. And – he leaned forward, focusing on the signatures, then quickly blinked and looked away, unable to stare for long at the precise curves of Jim's name, written in a handwriting he knew as well as he knew his own.

          "Wanted to give it to you as a Christmas present from the department," Simon rumbled, "but, well, we figured this might be better."

          Blair swallowed once, then again, trying to lessen the tightness that made his throat hurt. The last man in the world that he wanted to witness his breakdown was Simon Banks, and this was coming perilously close to doing just that. He closed his eyes and concentrated on just breathing for a long moment, then opened them and looked up at Simon, who was standing puffing on his cigar and watching him worriedly. "This is– This is great, Simon!" He felt the grin tug his lips up and looked back down at the award, feeling the warmth flush into his chest. "This means a lot to me, man, I mean it."

          If the enthusiasm was a bit ragged, it was nonetheless sincere, and the captain chose to ignore the slight shakiness of its delivery. "Good," he said gruffly, then waved a hand at the door. "Go on, get out of here, Sandburg, it's late and I need my sleep. I'm not getting any younger, you know!"

          Blair stood, carefully holding the award with both hands. "Simon… Thanks. Really. I mean–"

          "Out!"

          The second smile in a long time touched Blair's lips as he turned to the door. That brusque shout couldn't disguise the roughness in the older man's voice, and the anthropologist's smile widened a little as he turned back after opening the door. "Uh, Simon?"

          "Yeah, Sandburg?"

          "You might want to light that cigar sometime. Just a suggestion, sir."

          "Out! Now!"

          "Yes, sir." Blair made his escape through the outer room, the department's doors swinging closed behind him before the surge of humor wore off.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair stood in a jungle, and beside him stood Incacha. The anthropologist glanced around, blinking. He knew this was a dream, and at the same time, he knew it was real. For one thing, he'd never dreamed of the Chopec shaman before.

          The Indian turned to look at him, then motioned him to follow and started down a nearby path, his pace swift. Blair jogged after him, casting wondering glances at the landscape. The jungle was thick and lush, dappled sunlight occasionally falling onto the trail, and bird cries echoed through the canopy above him, together with the screech of different types of monkeys. Now and then he could hear the sounds of water, splashing and rippling over stones, and he veered to avoid a snake that lay draped along a tree limb edging the trail. The intricate details of the life around him were vivid and compelling, and if he hadn't known that Incacha was dead he would have thought he was running through a real jungle with the man.

          He dropped to a walk as the shaman slowed, moving up to join him when the older shaman stopped at the edge of a clearing. Blair took a last deep breath and looked up, then swallowed, hard, as his throat tightened.

          The panther and the wolf stood side by side in the middle of a large spiral pattern, gazing alertly at the two men. The paws of each animal were placed precisely, not endangering the small stones that made up the helical design.

          Blair swallowed again, then took a breath, glancing at the shaman. "What–?" he started, the question cut off by Incacha's curt gesture as he motioned the younger man's attention back to the animals.

          Abruptly, wind twisted through the clearing, a harsh breeze that strengthened to gale force in a matter of seconds. Blair staggered, then grabbed for a nearby tree trunk and held on with both hands. Incacha stood undisturbed, and the young anthropologist spent a quick frustrated thought on the fact that those who showed others visions never seemed to be impacted by them before all his attention was riveted on the animals.

          The wolf bowed his head against the wind, his eyes slitted and ears back, visibly bracing himself against its force. Blair could see the animal's muscles quiver as the wind strengthened yet again, but the wolf never moved, just crouched lower in his position.

          The panther, on the other hand… Blair jerked in a quick breath, a swift chill running through him as he watched the panther dissolve, its figure growing fainter and fainter until only the outline remained. Tears pricked the young man's eyes, and he blinked hard to clear them. The wind calmed as suddenly as it had appeared, and he stood away from the tree, stepping back beside Incacha.

          The wolf glanced at its companion and whined softly, then lifted its head and gazed across the clearing at Blair, its dark eyes mysterious and fierce. The young shaman found he couldn't look away, locked in that intense meeting, and the world whirled around him, sucking him down into the wolf's darkness.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair woke with a start, blinking into the night. Turning, he glanced at his clock. The red digits marking the time as three ten a.m. shone steadily and he took a breath and tried to relax. _Wow. Some dream_!

          Fluffing his blankets up around himself, he settled back, thinking. He had walked far enough down strange roads to know that the dream was no mere dream, but rather a vision, sent by Incacha. That in itself made him feel a little strange; Incacha had been Jim's mentor, not his, no matter what the shaman had told him of himself. To see him now, offering Blair a vision-dream… now that was… weird. That was what it was, weird.

          But whatever reason lay behind Incacha's act, the dream was important, and now, thinking back over it, Blair sighed, his lips tight. He had thought, when Jim… died, that his own duties died with him. But that obviously wasn't the case. The panther might have died, but the wolf stood, still guarding the spiral pattern (which probably represented the powers that Blair used). In other words, he was still a shaman, and his responsibilities to use those powers for good still prevailed, even if he was no longer shaman to his Sentinel.

          He stared into the dark for a long moment, then sighed and turned onto his side, drifting back into sleep. Whatever there was for him to do, he would know it when he found it, and now he wouldn't turn his back on it. It was true that any metaphysical deed would be twice as dangerous to perform alone as it would have been with Jim at his back, but that was just the way it was. He had his duties, just as Jim had, and it seemed that those duties hadn't ended with their relationship.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          James Kallini stood in the jungle, caught in a moment out of time as he stared at the panther fading in the giant wind that shoved him into a nearby tree. Grasping a huge limb, he hung on grimly, unable to look away as the panther's form tattered and dissolved.

          Within himself he was aware of a fierce pain that grew ever stronger as the panther's form wavered, and he bent his head against the gusts that threatened to toss him onto the trail where the other two stood. A chasm lay between his soul and his current self, and he writhed as that alienation burned deeper. He was not himself, but someone other, and as he watched the panther's figure grow dim, only a faint outline showing where it stood, he knew, at some level that he could not deny, that that was how little of his true self remained to him.

          He started awake, catching his breath with a jerk as his fingers curled into the sheets, an automatic reaction to the elevator-drop feeling in the pit of his stomach.

          The pre-dawn darkness was cool and quiet, and he lay for a long moment fighting to steady his breathing as he dealt with the snake's nest of feelings surging through him. Fear, anger, sorrow, loss, regret, longing and other emotions less readily identified tightened his throat and his chest, and it took some moments to calm himself.

          At least the wolf was still standing, still alert and well.

          What wolf?

          He shook his head violently, a move that lacked effectiveness when one lay in a bed. What had he been thinking? More to the point, what had he dreamed? He couldn't remember now, the images fading even as he tried to hold onto them. Only… only there'd been a pattern, and a wolf. And… and something else.

          He shook his head again, rolling it far enough to see the clock. Three fifteen in the morning. His alarm was set for six, and he needed his sleep. And with that decision he rolled over and put his back to the glowing digits, forcing the dream and its feelings out of his mind at the same time, and welcoming the inky darkness that swept over him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          August Lindir was a charismatic man, and James Kallini, although not susceptible to that quality, had to admit to its existence. It certainly affected everyone else, including the man now standing proudly to sign the papers lying on Lindir's desk, a man who scraped and bowed and fawned over the offer that August had made him. Even his own peers, now seated after their turn at signing the contracts, edged away from him, uneasy with his attitude.

          But James knew in his gut that the first offer made to Jerry Williams that was better than Lindir's would be snapped up equally willingly, and that the chances of that offer being made by the police were very good. August Lindir was, after all, rapidly moving up the ladder of power in a city and a region whose major criminal players had been so conveniently removed by an exploding boat, and the law was keeping an increasingly alarmed eye on him.

          But gut or no, James knew his place, and at least as yet it didn't include critical comments on the men his boss saw fit to enlist as allies and supporters, even if those men held strong potential of failing not just in their loyalty but in their abilities as well. He shifted uneasily as Jerry leaned over to sign his name to the document, and knew Lindir saw the movement. So did August's 'first lieutenant,' as he was called by the drug dealer, who now levied a small but nasty grin on James, whom he hadn't liked from the first moment of their meeting. Deren Richards had pushed for Jerry's endorsement from the beginning, and had resented James' efforts to delay and deny it.

          "Well, now," said August as Jerry stood up, pen in hand, grinning with excitement, "what do you think of our new member, Deren?" He accorded his lieutenant a seemingly lazy glance that also swept across James' impassive features.

          "I think that he's a good addition," his subordinate replied with assurance. "He's smart enough to know where his bread's buttered, and he knows it's here with you. He won't forget that."

          Jerry nodded furiously, his eyes bright.

          "Really?" August asked, stroking his chin. "I disagree. James, what is your opinion of our new member? Your honest opinion," he added with sudden steel as James hesitated, unsurprised by the abrupt attention – he'd been aware of Lindir watching him since he'd been hired, gauging him, and such a confrontation was inevitable – but unsure what degree of frankness to use.

          "I think he's a liar and a coward," James answered evenly, his eyes holding his employer's without blinking. "I doubt he has the skills we need, and his loyalty to the highest bidder probably extends to the police if they show any interest in him."

          Deren's fury was so overwhelming that he took a step toward James, a move he halted quickly at Lindir's glance. Jerry shrank back from the desk and started to whimper.

          "I agree," August said with a smile. "Kill him."

          Jerry threw himself backward, desperate fear twisting his features. "No, please, I wouldn't–"

          The bullet that caught him square between the eyes smashed the words before they were formed, and he folded to the floor in a boneless heap. His compatriots stared at him, then at Kallini, then at Lindir, and James saw the respect and fear in their eyes intensify. No one here would betray Lindir now, that was certain.

         James stepped forward to heft Williams over his shoulder, but was stayed by his superior's preemptory gesture.

          "Leave him, James. Deren can take care of the body; I think you and I have much to talk about." He nodded to the other men, who quickly stood and filed out, their speed a measure of their willingness to leave.

          The last thing James saw as he turned from the closing door was Deren's stare of hatred as he hauled the dead man out of the room, leaving James to step into his place.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Simon stepped out of his office, closing the door behind him, and made his way over to Joel's office. The burly African-American glanced up at him as he entered. "Where're you off to?"

          "Friend of mine called," Simon answered, smiling. "Captain Turner down in Lacovue. Seems a body just rolled ashore that he thought would interest me. Minor drug dealer named Jerry Williams, remember him?

          "Yeah," Joel said, his eyes narrowing. "Wasn't Williams on the guest list for the boat that blew?"

          "You got it," Simon said, his smile dying. "How he ended up down the coast with a bullet from a 9mm in his brain is anyone's guess, but I intend to find out."

          "How long's he been dead?"

          "The coroner says three days, max," Simon replied.

          "So he sure wasn't on that boat, even if it is the same bay," Joel said after a short pause.

          "Yeah. Turner thought I'd be interested enough to come down. That and he wants me to see August Lindir, who's probably responsible for the murder."

          "Uh huh," Joel nodded. "I've heard about him. The man sounds like he has ambitions to take over this whole region."

          Simon grimaced. "Yeah. Best to nip that in the bud, if we can."

          "Well, go on, then," Joel said, waving him toward the door. "You've got a nice coast drive, a friend to see, a drug dealer to bust… sounds like a busy day." He grinned at Simon, who scowled back, then turned and headed toward the door before the smile tugging at his lips could make its way out.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It was a beautiful, sunny day with a small breeze, and the surf was a clear blue as far as Simon could see, touched with whitecaps here and there. Surfers could already be seen, and the beaches were already dotted with people. The captain shook his head as he followed the curve of the road. Who would have thought that so many people would be out so early on a weekday? Seemed like most would be at work at nine a.m.

          But looking at the water brought back memories of Jim, and Simon sighed. That explosion had taken one of the best friends he'd ever had, and certainly one of his best officers. The department would just never be quite the same again without him, and without Blair.

          Funny how the two had become such a fixture the last few years. He wondered briefly what Blair had intended to do when he graduated, then dismissed the question. It didn't need an answer now, that was for sure.

          But he did miss Jim. He missed the way the man could always get his way, his cool head at times of crisis, his incisive mind on a crime scene, his dependability.

          And he missed Blair, too. There'd been a certain camaraderie between himself and the younger man, one they'd used against Jim on occasion, and the shared teasing of the man had been sweet. And he could always depend on Blair to take care of Jim, or try to, and that ability to trust the anthropologist with his officer, and to consult with him when needed, had been a warm certainty he'd relied upon.

          It was hard to think of Jim now without thinking of Blair. The two came as a unit, and most of his memories of the last few years were of Blair harassing Jim to do what he wanted, Jim teasing Blair, the arguments between them, the times when Jim's senses spiked and the anthropologist talked him out of it…

          Most vivid of all were the times when Jim had worried about Blair – and God knew there'd been enough times like that! He remembered Blair down in the garage, high on golden, trying to lead the golden fire people to a place where they couldn't harm anyone, and Jim's expression as he talked Blair down from the car, catching him as he collapsed.

          Or with Lash, or the terrorist in the elevator, or when Blair had woken in the hospital with amnesia[1]. He remembered Jim sitting by Blair's bedside in the hospital, not once but numerous times, and he remembered Blair doing the same.

          "Damn," Simon said softly, automatically adjusting his speed as a car swung into the lane ahead of him. "I wish you could be here to see him, Jim, because you'd be proud how he's handled this. He's gone on, stood tall… I admit, I thought he'd fall with you – I'm not too sure that you could've done this well. But, man, the hole you've left behind you was bigger than I think you knew."

          He blinked hard, then swung into the lane leading to his exit, turning his thoughts toward his day and what would hopefully come from it.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Simon slid into the booth across from his friend, glancing across the restaurant with the alertness that went with his profession. "So why're we here?" he asked, flipping open the menu and glancing down the entries.

          "Well," Captain Renn Turner said, turning startlingly green eyes on him and grinning, "partially because I know you, Simon, and I know that you haven't had a good breakfast this morning. You just grabbed something and hurried on down." He plowed on over Simon's scowl. "And partially because I'm hungry, and this is one of the best restaurants in town."

          "And?" Simon finished, knowing his friend's style. "Why else?"

          The question went unanswered as the waitress stopped beside their table and they gave their orders.

          "Go on," Simon said once she'd left.

          Renn took a swallow of coffee, happily savoring it as he ignored Simon's glare. "And because," he said after he swallowed, "this is where August Lindir eats a late breakfast. I hoped you could get here this soon so you could see him."

          "Uh-huh, I figured as much," Simon grunted. "That his file?" he asked, nodding at the manila folder that Renn had placed on the table.

          "Yep," the other captain answered succinctly. "Have a look."

          Simon accepted the folder and flipped it open, his gaze skimming the pages inside. He paused to peruse Lindir's picture, then thumbed through the rest of the file before he closed it, lifting his gaze to meet Renn's. "Drugs, weapons… ambitious little bugger, isn't he?"

          "Yep," his friend agreed, plucking the folder from the table as the waitress halted beside them with their breakfast. There was silence as the two settled the plates and silverware to their satisfaction and dug in.

          "Likes diversification, or so says the street," Renn finished as he sliced pieces out of his steak.

          "Diversification?" Simon repeated. "What the hell is this, a board meeting?"

          "By all accounts, Lindir runs his dealings like a business, to a point," Renn answered, pouring himself more coffee and offering it to Simon.

          "Yeah, thanks," Simon said, pushing his cup closer. "To a point?"

          "It's a business as long as he's the one in charge," Turner elaborated, wiping his bite of steak in egg yolk and munching it appreciatively.

          "Hmm," was all Simon commented as the entrance to the restaurant swung open. "Looks like he's arrived."

          Renn glanced over, then turned back to his steak. "Yeah, that's him."

          "Huh," the Cascade captain muttered as he studied the man now being escorted by a host to a table across the room from them. "Charismatic, isn't–" He glanced over at Lindir's followers and choked on the words.

          "Simon? Simon, what is it? Man, you're white, come on, talk to me!"

          "Jim," the African-American whispered, his gaze riveted on the man who sat down across from August. "Holy Mother of God."

          "Simon?!"

          "Christ in heaven," muttered the officer, managing to close his mouth but unable to turn his eyes away from the figure across the room. He started to push himself up, but the man across the room turned to glance at him, and the lack of recognition in the cold blue eyes stalled his movement even as Jim looked back to Lindir. Simon felt his knees give and sank back into his seat, managing to remove his gaze from the man and turn it instead on Turner.

          "What the hell is the matter, Simon?" The query was low and urgent, and Renn looked at him worriedly. "Man, you look like you just saw a ghost!"

          Simon remembered to breathe, though the air felt like moving iron in his tight chest. "That man with Lindir, who is he? Do you know him?"

          Turner glanced casually at the drug dealer and his companion, then back to Simon. "Which one? The one sitting with him or the one at the next table?"

          "With him!"

          Turner hiked an eyebrow at the bark, but answered. "Don't know. I've seen him with Lindir twice before now, though then he sat at the next table and August's 'first lieutenant,' as he calls him, sat with Lindir. Looks like they've reversed places; guess this guy's moved up in the world. What's going on? Do you know him?"

          Simon looked at him helplessly, then glanced quickly across the room and back. "He's– That's Jim Ellison." The words were all he could get out, and he lifted his cup, then put it down as he saw how it trembled.

          Renn frowned at him. "Ellison? Wasn't he the guy you just had a memorial service for a few weeks ago? Cop of the year for the last four, right? Wasn't he on the boat that blew?"

          Simon watched Jim out of the corner of his eye. Their conversation wasn't garnering his friend's attention, and Simon was fairly sure that he knew the tilt of the Sentinel's head that betokened his listening stance. And there was no way that Jim wouldn't have heard this conversation. That left only one conclusion – for whatever reason, his Sentinel senses weren't in play right now.

          "Yeah, I thought so," he belatedly answered Renn. "His memorial was six weeks ago; the boat blew in mid-June."

          Turner studied him, frowning, then leaned forward. "Simon, are you sure, really sure, that that's him? I mean, hey, man," he said as the officer's eyes narrowed, "we all run across look-alikes in our job, you know that. Couldn't that be the explanation? Why else would he be here, now, doing this?"

          Simon lowered his head, rubbing his forehead to stave off the threatening headache. Under cover of the move he studied the man across the room, almost hoping that Renn was right and it was simply a chance resemblance, nothing more. Hell, that would certainly make things easier all around.

          But no, he knew his friend, even when Jim seemingly didn't recognize him. Blair was the only one who might know him better, but for himself Simon was sure. It was Jim.

          But what was he doing now, here? And why was he obviously working for Lindir? And how had he escaped the explosion? And most important of all, why in hell hadn't he called them to let them know that he was alive?

          Against his will, Simon remembered that day, the explosion bright against the sky, the sand sliding under his feet as he whirled to face the echoing thunder across the water and Blair's cry as he crumbled senseless to the sand. Something had happened that day, something terrible – Blair's reaction was too real, too painful for it not to be.

          "No," he gritted, looking back up at his friend and lowering his hand. "That's Jim. I would know him anywhere. What he's doing, I don't know. Maybe he went undercover with Lindir…" The words trailed off as he ran straight into an insupportable contradiction – Jim would no more have done such a thing without their knowledge and backup than he would've tried deep sea fishing in open water. And he would never, not in any possible scenario, have left Blair thinking he was dead.

          "I don't know," Simon repeated. "But I'm going to find out." He started to lever himself up, but Renn leaned across to put a hand on his shoulder.

          "Don't do it, Simon," he said, the words urgent but low. "If he is undercover, you'll blow it all if you walk over there."

          The truth in the statement halted Simon mid-move, and he slowly seated himself again. "All right," he agreed, not looking over at Jim as he did so. "But one way or the other, I'm going to get to the bottom of this."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Say what?"

          Simon looked across the desk at his friend, not without sympathy. The unadulterated shock of his blunt statement had whitened Joel's features, and his staring gaze held something of a glazed look. "Jim is working for August Lindir," he repeated, glancing over to double-check that the blinds hanging over his windows were shut.

          Joel blinked, then shook his head. "Simon, Jim is dead."

          "He's the most alive looking dead man I've ever seen," Simon answered tersely. "I saw him with Lindir, Joel; it was Jim, no mistake about it."

          The Bomb Squad captain swallowed. "But the boat–"

          "He must've escaped the boat's explosion, somehow," Simon replied. Removing his glasses, he rubbed his eyes, then resettled the frames and looked back at his friend. "Hell, Joel, I don't know how it happened, or what happened, but I know what I saw. It was Jim."

          "If he's alive…" There was silence for a long moment, as both men pondered the fact and its ramifications. "Okay," Joel said evenly, "if you're sure of this – and you obviously are," he added in a hurried response to his friend's glare, "then why's he there, what's he doing, and why hasn't he told us – told Blair, in particular – where he is and that he's alive?"

          "I don't know," Simon replied, his words stark. "But I can tell you this – he didn't recognize me."

          The other captain shot him a look. "You're sure? Maybe he was just pretending."

          Simon shook his head. "I've seen Jim undercover. He's good, but he's not _that_ good. No one is. I tell you, Joel, he didn't recognize me. Not at all."

          "Oh, brother," Taggert said softly. "What do you want to do?"

          Simon flipped a pencil end over end in his fingers, then looked up. "I want you to come with me tomorrow, and we'll go eat breakfast at that restaurant and hope that Lindir and Jim come back. They should," he said in answer to Joel's raised eyebrows. "According to Captain Turner, it's a usual hangout for them. I want you to see him and verify my report."

          "And then?"

          Simon swallowed. "And then, I guess we go tell Blair."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Well, you were right," Joel said, breaking a long silence between himself and the other captain. He turned from staring out the car window to look across at Simon. "It's Jim, and he sure as hell doesn't recognize us."

          "No," Simon muttered, not removing his gaze from the road, "he sure doesn't. He made that clear."

          "Yeah," Joel agreed, rubbing his chin. "He gets angry about as fast as he used to, too, before Blair."

          Simon glanced at him, a small smile flickering on his lips. "Yeah, he does. I admit, I didn't expect that. Sorry."

          The other captain shrugged. "I was already moving, so it wasn't all that hard to dodge most of it."

          Banks turned back to the road, his smile dying. "I should've anticipated that, but I just wasn't thinking."

          "Hey, it's Jim," Joel pointed out. "Why would you expect him to hit either one of us?"

          Simon sighed, the corners of his lips tight. "I guess I expected him to recognize some kind of connection with us and act on it. But if he did, it sure isn't having much effect."

          "No," the older African-American agreed with a sigh. "But maybe he'll recognize Blair."

          "And maybe he won't."

          Joel shot him a glance. "We have to try." When all he got was silence for an answer, he frowned. "Simon, he has the right to know."

          Simon took a long breath, then nodded. "Yeah, he does. I'll call him and ask if he can meet us tonight. At home," he added. "This is not a talk I want to have in public. Or at the station."

          "No," Taggert agreed, shaking his head. "I'm not looking forward to it, either."

          "You and me both," Simon agreed as he swung into the exit ramp leading to Cascade.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "No." Seated on the couch at the loft, Blair shook his head and kept shaking it. "No, Simon, you're wrong. You have to be. Jim is–" He swallowed and looked at the two of them, unable to repress the anger that rose with the hope.

          Damn it, this wasn't fair! Jim was dead. Dead. Even the dream had supported that. And the link…

          "No, he's not," Simon said, a solid ridge of worry between his brows as he watched the anthropologist.

          "I saw him, too," Joel said, adding as the half-angry glance swung toward him. "Up close and personal, Blair. It was him."

          "No." Blair swallowed, then stood with a force that almost toppled the pile of books stacked beside the armchair. Turning away from the two men, he took a few steps, trying to pace, but his own agitation wouldn't allow it. He stopped at the French doors, staring out at a twilit sky he didn't see.

          It had been a little over two months since the boat had exploded, taking his life and destroying half of it. He'd done his best to deal with that; he'd taken on a summer class to teach, added a second one for the fall semester, due to start in three weeks, agreed to work with a new professor next spring as a research assistant, even made arrangements to travel over Christmas break to do some fieldwork with another grad student. He was slowly rebuilding his life, reclaiming the parts he had deliberately let slide when Jim was his focus.

          To give all that up for a hope that hurt more with every word the two men spoke wasn't something he was sure he could endure. And if Jim were alive, he would've called. He wouldn't have done this to his friends.

          "No, he wouldn't," Joel said, the words forcing Blair to jump. He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud, and now he turned, looking helplessly at the two men.

          "Blair," Simon said, the gentle name all the more forceful for its rare use, "I wouldn't do this to you if I weren't sure. Really sure," he added at the anthropologist's glance. "But we managed to get his fingerprints off a glass he was using, and we checked. It's him. No doubt about it." He hesitated, watching the young shaman as he shakily sat down in the armchair, then opened his mouth again.

          Blair held up a hand, halting the officer's words as he pulled his legs into a cross-legged position and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. It only took that gesture to center himself and drop into a light trance, and as he stared into the darkness behind his eyelids, he reached for the link, actively trying to use something he'd just as determinedly denied himself since Jim… died.

          When he'd tried to call the Sentinel after the explosion the effort had produced a blossoming headache, but now all he felt was… emptiness, no matter how far he sought or how hard he pushed, and after a moment he opened his eyes, shaking his head.

          "No," he said simply, trying to stifle the newfound hope in his soul with the blunt word. "No, I don't believe it. He's gone."

          "Damn it, Sandburg!" Simon paused to take a breath, trying to throttle the anger that surged through him at the denial. "Fingerprints don't lie! What makes you so sure you're right and we're wrong, some kind of psychic mumbo jumbo?!"

          Blair's lips thinned. "Yeah, if you want to call it that! I tell you, Jim's dead!"

          "What makes you say that?" Joel asked, cutting in before Simon could answer.

          The anthropologist stared at him, then glanced at Simon. "Because I can't reach him," he said bluntly.

          "Oh, for God's sake!"

          "Look, Simon," Blair said between his teeth, reining in his own frustrated pain with an effort. "Didn't you ever wonder how Jim knew I was in trouble that time in May, when I fell down the Anthropology stairs and he was having lunch with you? Or how he knew those officers had attacked me in the police garage? Or how he knew when the nurse in the hospital tried to kill me?[2] Didn't any of that make you curious?"

          Simon looked away, his glance sliding across the loft. Blair had removed some of Jim's stuff and replaced it with his own, but most of the Sentinel's items remained, and he wondered, briefly, just how the kid stood to look at them all the time. "Yeah," he answered grudgingly. "I was curious."

          "Didn't you find it strange that I knew something had happened to Jim without seeing the boat explode?"

          This time the silence was longer, and Simon finally looked back at him and nodded. "Yeah, I did. But, damn it, Blair…" His words lacked the anger they'd held before, and the anthropologist sighed.

          "Look, man, I know you don't like metaphysical stuff. Jim didn't either. But it happens. Anyway, we can talk with each other when we need to, and when something happens to each other, we know– knew about it." He swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat at the change in tense, and went on. "And right now there's nothing there. Nothing. He's gone."

          "Maybe gone is the right word," Joel said thoughtfully before Simon had time to respond. "He didn't recognize us, Blair, neither of us. Maybe he was injured when the boat exploded, and it did something to him."

          Blair looked down at his hands, clasped in his lap. Hope reared its head again, and this time he couldn't deny it. That would explain the silence, and the link. And– Suddenly he saw the dream vision again, the panther's figure fading until only a faint outline remained. Perhaps he had misread the dream. Perhaps that whisper-thin image had represented not death, but some sort of injury that diminished Jim's sense of identity to the point where he honestly didn't recognize his friends, didn't remember to call, couldn't use the link…

          "Maybe so," he said, the words as soft as if their volume would destroy their possibility. "Maybe so."

          He raised his head to look at them, his mind bounding ahead. "So when are we going back down there?"

          Simon closed his mouth, then shook his head. "What makes you think you're going anywhere?"

          Blair looked at him steadily. "Come on, Simon. I might not be an active part of the department anymore, but I know how this works. We have to get Jim back, whatever it takes, and it's clearly going to take more than the two of you. I'm the obvious choice. So when do we go back down there?"

          "What's your schedule?" Joel asked before Simon could answer.

          Blair hesitated, quickly calculating, then nodded to himself. "How about tomorrow morning? My summer class runs Monday through Thursday, so I'm free on Fridays. I had a meeting with a professor at three, but I can postpone. That way I'll be free for tomorrow and the weekend."

          It took some discussion, but they agreed to meet at the station at eight the next morning, and Blair ushered them out, watching them descend the outside stairway with ambivalence churning in his guts.

          He closed the door behind them, turning to look around the loft with a long, slow glance.

          Jim was alive.

          Or at least, he cautioned himself, both Simon and Joel thought so. Even with their say so, though, he didn't think he'd really believe it until he saw his friend in the flesh.

          But if he wasn't certain, he was hopeful, and that feeling was so much better than the ache in his soul that he'd lived with for the past two months that he didn't quite know what to do with himself. Studying was out of the question, as was grading, and lesson planning, and…

          It was going to be a long night.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair paused in front of the police station, letting his gaze climb the building, lingering on the window he'd stood at so many times, gazing out at a world where he stood as shaman to Jim's Sentinel, never realizing the pain that would back its loss.

          He shook his head, hesitating as he checked the streetlight before stepping into the crosswalk. If Joel and Simon were right, there might come a day when he would stand at that window again, risking that pain a second time for the warmth of the camaraderie and friendship he'd known before the explosion. Perhaps some people would've wondered if it was worth it, but for himself Blair could find no hesitation in his soul, only eagerness and anticipation.

          He turned into the police building, nodding to some people he recognized, who all blinked in surprise at his entrance, then smiled warmly at him. It was only as he stepped out of the elevator and saw the Major Crimes department in front of him that he paused, his stomach tightening. Even with the possibility of returning to his place here, he wasn't sure he could walk into that room again. Not yet.

          He was saved by a hail down the hallway, and turned as Joel joined him, a warm hand clasping his shoulder. "Hey, thought you might be here. How about going down to the cafe? Simon'll join us there."

          Blair let out a breath as the captain turned him toward the stairwell, his shoulders relaxing as they trotted down the winding steps. "Thanks, man," he said softly as Joel opened the second floor door for him. Stepping through it, he automatically turned toward the small cafe that sat at the end of the corridor, an often-used stop by officers.

          "No problem," the big man said easily, steering Blair through the deli entrance and fielding several greetings by other officers seated in the area.

          Blair chose a donut and poured a cup of coffee, too tense to follow his usual health-based diet. He dug into his pockets as they neared the cashier, but Joel plunked down several bills and indicated both his and Blair's choices, ignoring the anthropologist's gestures as he took the change and led the way over to a small table in the corner.

          "You ready for this?" he asked as they settled themselves.

          Blair glanced at him, then across the room as Simon entered, heading toward them at a quick walk. "I think so," he said as the other man neared them.

          "Ready to go?" Simon asked as he stopped at their table. "Good," he grumbled as they stood, each hefting a napkin filled with pastry. "Wasting time…" His mutter trailed off as he headed toward the door, and Blair smiled faintly as he watched the man stump ahead of him. Simon was nervous, and worried, and the normality of his gruff response made the anthropologist feel more at home than anything else could have.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair stared across the floor as Jim seated himself across from Lindir, the Sentinel's eyes raking across him without interest as he surveyed the restaurant. The shaman managed to close his mouth at Simon's buffet on his shoulder, but couldn't remove his gaze from his friend.

          He wasn't sure what he'd expected to feel right now, if Simon and Joel had been right in their assessment of the situation and of Jim, but the mélange of emotions boiling through him ran the gamut. Amazement topped the list, with anger and joy vying for the second spot. He felt a ridiculous urge to burst into tears, and an equally absurd desire to laugh hysterically.

          Fighting it all down to a manageable size, he managed to swallow and drop his gaze to the notes he'd been making before Jim had walked in, which he studied without seeing for a long moment, then took a long, slightly shaky breath and looked up at his tablemates, who were both watching him anxiously, the food on their plates forgotten.

          "Well?" Joel's question just beat Simon's.

          "It's–" Blair discovered his tongue wouldn't twist around the name, and swallowed again. "You were right."

          "Yes!" Simon's answer was exuberant but low, and he slammed one fist into his open palm, earning himself a sharp look from Jim.

          Joel simply inhaled and relaxed, smiling.

          "You were right," Blair said again after sipping his coffee. "It is Jim. And he doesn't recognize us."

          "Do you feel anything from your, uh, you know…?" Simon stuttered to a halt as the anthropologist studied him, and the younger man felt his lips curve upward.

          "No," he said, the smile dying. "I don't feel a thing, Simon. I think the link is out of commission for the time being." This close to Jim, he could tell even without dropping into trance that there was no hint of their bond rejuvenating, and he glanced sideways at Jim, determination hardening in him at the careless look he received in return.

          "He is watching us, though," he commented. "That's a good thing. I think."

          Simon shook his head, taking up his fork to cut his pancakes into smaller portions. "Don't get your hopes up, Sandburg. August Lindir is his boss, and Lindir probably knows what every police chief and captain and lieutenant in this region looks like. He's willing to share a restaurant with us as long as we all ignore each other, but you can bet that Jim will be watching us like a hawk."

          "Especially since we're obviously interested in him," Joel added, forking through the hashbrowns on his plate.

          "Oh," Blair said, unable to hide the disappointment in the word. Taking a breath, he rallied before either officer could react, turning to study the Sentinel with all the analysis he could bring to bear. "He's not listening to us, either," he said with surety, noting the absence of the small signs that indicated such an interest.

          "That's what I thought, too," Simon said, looking up at him. "And since he would want to, what does that mean about his senses?"

          Blair met and held the eyes that lifted to meet his, plumbing their cold blue depths with an intensity he hadn't used in over two months. After a moment, he looked away, back across at Simon, who was frowning. "I'd guess that his senses aren't working," he answered, ignoring the stare that Jim was levying on him. "Which would fit with the rest of the evidence. I mean," he elaborated as Simon stared at him, "that the reason why we have something between us is because he's a Sentinel and I'm his partner. If one side of the equation is missing, all of it is."

          "Hmm," Joel muttered. "I remember that from high school. No answers are possible when the information's not available."

          "Yes, yes, exactly," the anthropologist said, nodding, a touch of his old enthusiasm surfacing. "My guess is that that explosion damaged something up here," he tapped his head, glancing from one officer to the other, "and as a consequence his senses are all off-line, so to speak."

          "But with or without his senses, Jim's still himself," Simon protested. "What about that?"

          Blair frowned, a sinking feeling in his stomach. "We'd have to have him examined by a doctor first, but my bet is that his memories are screwed up, too."

          "Pretty badly, I'd say," Joel said dryly. "Sounds like some form of amnesia to me."

          "Probably so," the shaman replied, frowning into his coffee cup. "But–"

          "But that doesn't make any sense," Simon objected, glancing across at the subject of their discussion, who was now steadfastly ignoring them. "I mean, when you had amnesia, Blair, you still knew who you were.[3] Hell, even when someone has complete amnesia, their personality doesn't change, they just can't call up their memories, right?"

          Blair frowned. "Hey, man, psychology was my minor as an undergrad, not my major, you know? I don't know whether someone's personality would change or not if they lost all their memories. But I don't think that's what happened here. I mean, he's still wearing his earring, his hair's longer, he's still got the hat and he dresses up more than usual; it all fits with the persona he was under when he was on the boat."

          He took a breath and glanced from one officer to the other. "I don't think that's James Ellison sitting over there. I think it's James Kallini."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It was later that afternoon, and Blair sauntered along the sidewalk, keeping an eye on Jim, who'd just halted to stand to one side of the shop that Lindir had just entered. Glancing up and down the street, his gaze paused on the anthropologist and he frowned.

          Blair took the notice as an invitation and strolled toward him, ignoring the hisses of Simon and Joel, stationed just around the corner.

          "Hey, man," he said when he was within a few feet of the Sentinel. "Something wrong?"

          "You," Jim answered, staring at him. "Why are you interested in me?"

          Blair shrugged, momentarily glad that the Sentinel's senses weren't in play. It was the first time he'd been within touching distance of his friend since that morning almost two months before, and it was all he could do not to throw himself at Jim. His heart thudded in his chest, and he knew that its rate would've given him away if the man could have heard it. But his friend's expression made it clear that he couldn't, and the shaman drew a tight breath. _This isn't Jim_ , he reminded himself. _This is James Kallini. Remember that, 'cause he could kill you and never notice_. "What makes you think I'm interested in you?"

          James' eyes narrowed. "Because, punk, you've been staring at me ever since you saw me in the cafe. Why? You a cop?"

          Blair forced a chuckle, ignoring the jab of pain at the epithet. The difference between Kallini and Jim was never more obvious than with the contempt the thug put into that one word. Even when Jim had shoved the anthropologist up against the wall of his own office that first day, he had never felt denied as a human being. Forcibly boxed into a stereotype, perhaps, but Jim had listened then as this man never would, and for a moment a fierce surge of frustration ran through Blair as he wished that the Sentinel had never taken on that drug meet in the first place.

          But he had, and Blair's job now was to get him back. "No, I'm an anthropologist," he said, watching Jim carefully. "I just couldn't help but notice the mark, that's all."

          "What mark?" Kallini growled.

          "That one," Blair said, pointing at Jim's left hand. "Uh, may I?" he asked when the man only frowned, a faint hint of puzzlement in his eyes. _Guess he hasn't seen it, although how he could've missed it for two months…. But maybe he can't see it because it's Jim's, not his. But if I show him…_

          Kallini hesitated, then nodded, and the shaman reached across to take the thug's left hand and turn it palm upward, exposing the thin scar that ran diagonally across the skin. In the same move, he held out his own right hand, exposing the mirror-image that crossed it. "See? Those are the marks of blood brotherhood, don't you remember? We got them when we won against Natalie.[4] She almost killed us both, but Joel and–"

          The flood of words didn't keep him from seeing the sudden, painful frown that narrowed James' eyes with a searching intensity that he turned on Blair, and for a long second out of time their eyes met.

          The blow that threw the grad student into the nearby wall was swift and powerful, cutting him off mid-word, and when he sat up and groggily focused after the ex-Sentinel, it was to find himself being checked over by two very angry officers, with Kallini and Lindir halfway down the next block.

          "Goddamn it, Sandburg, if you ever do anything like that again, I'll lock you in a cell and throw away the key!"

          It had been a long time since Blair had felt the brunt of one of Simon's rages, and from Joel's icy silence as he helped the anthropologist sit up the younger man knew the second officer wasn't far from the same feeling.

          But he hardly noticed their reactions as he got to his feet and started after his friend, twisting free from Simon's grasp of his shoulder with a quick jerk. It wasn't until Joel caught him in a headlock that his focus was broken, and he blinked at Simon as the African-American stood before him, hands on hips.

          "What the hell do you think you're doing, Sandburg?" The query was icy cold, a sure signal that Simon had crossed into an area of fury that even Blair had only seen a few times.

          "Uh," the anthropologist said intelligently, standing ultra-still in Joel's skilled grip.

          "What were you trying to do, anyway?" Joel growled, his breath warm on the back of Blair's ear. "He might've killed you, and then how would we explain that to Jim, huh?"

          Blair's shoulders relaxed as Kallini and Lindir turned a corner out of sight, and Joel slowly released him, watching him warily as he stepped out of the grasp, rubbing his throat.

          "He wasn't going to hurt me."

          "And I suppose you know that through some psychic channel to the great beyond?" Simon inquired with harsh sarcasm. "In case you've forgotten, Sandburg, that's not Jim right now, but Kallini, and Kallini was created as a ruthless, brutal criminal who thought nothing of killing anyone who got in his way, you included!"

          Blair stood still under the barrage, then said calmly, "He recognized me."

          "If that's what he does when he recognizes you–" Simon started.

          The shaman sighed, the soft sound cutting the officer off. "Just for a moment, but he did recognize me. That's why he hit me. And that's why I've got to see him again."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Black pain crackled through him, and James rubbed his fingers wearily over his temples, closing his eyes against the midnight darkness beyond his pillow. But that was a mistake, for it only made the images clearer – the movement of the stranger that revealed the thin scar running across his hand, a scar that was the mirror image of James' own. Never mind that Kallini hadn't seen it before and had no notion how he'd come by it. Now he couldn't forget it, or ignore it, or deny it.

          Without noticing, he lowered his hands, absently rubbing a thumb over the fine ridge, the move automatic, unthinking.

          He couldn't remember the man's face anymore, only his hand. And his words.

_Those are the marks of blood brotherhood… we got them when we won…_

          He'd never seen the man before in his life; why couldn't he get him out of his mind? And where did he get off, claiming blood brotherhood with Kallini, anyway? Like James believed in that sort of crap! Or would do it if he did, especially with a punk like that!

          Back and forth, back and forth, his thumb brushed along the scar, the tension always bouncing back from that inescapable truth.

          The scar was real.

          How or why it was there he didn't have a clue.

_Those are the marks of blood brotherhood…_

_Damn, damn, damn._ Maybe if he killed the man it would go away.

          Now that was almost as stupid an idea as blood brotherhood. Like killing Sandburg would make the scar vanish with him.

          At least then he could ignore it.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The doors to Simon's car slammed shut, and Blair waved as the captain backed it up, then swung it out of the loft parking lot with an almost reckless faith in the emptiness of the outside street. The grad student grinned, knowing that the move was a good demonstration of Banks' frustration with both Blair and the situation, a feeling that wasn't likely to fade soon.

          He stepped into the hallway and moved to the loft door, his own smile fading as he inserted the key into the lock and swung the door open. When he'd left the place this morning, he'd been in a lather of excitement as hope and apprehension raced through him, wondering whether Jim was truly alive or actually dead.

          And now it was almost suppertime of the same day and here he was, home again, and now certain that Jim was indeed alive, if not exactly available for comment. But alive, not dead.

          Stepping inside, he swung the door shut behind him and walked forward, letting his gaze travel across the area as he glanced sideways into the kitchen, then over at the stairs leading to the loft. He was reclaiming the space, for both himself and Jim, and the joy that filled him was deep and sober.

          He moved forward, through the living room, skirting the table, running a hand along the back of the sofa as he crossed in front of the French doors, and finally pausing to survey the room, glancing from the large plant in the corner to the art mounted on the wall to the TV.

          Turning, he reversed himself, his gaze following the stairs leading to Jim's room as he wandered toward them. He set a hand on one of the banisters and lifted a foot to the first step, then paused, the grave dynamic of the ritual halted for a moment as he felt the heightened tension of the move.

          The stairs had abruptly become his own representation of his personal mountain, and once he'd reached its summit, there would be no going back. Past this point, Jim was alive, not dead, and all the days and weeks of sorrow would be truly over as Blair took on the responsibility of reclaiming his partner, turning all his focus toward that. A new array of tasks lay ahead, one of which was to reintegrate his life and Jim's into one whole.

          Sudden excitement blazed hot through him, and he lost the solemn depth that had driven him before. Laughing, he raced up the stairs, pausing at the top to toss his hair back as he glanced down across the loft. "I'm coming, Jim! I'll get you back, I promise!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair stood in the dark alley, watching Jim and Lindir part paths as they left the cafe. He took a breath and took a step closer to the sidewalk, then waited.

          Simon hadn't been happy when he'd refused to give his word to wait until they could all come down together to search Jim out again, but Blair had pointed out that the two of them were full-time police captains and that he was only a graduate student. Who had more time available?

          Simon had grunted and said that he remembered Blair vehemently describing being a graduate student as being more demanding than a full-time job, not less, and that he should remember that as a graduate student he had no business running around a city he didn't even know after someone who didn't even know _him_ , and furthermore–

          "It's my right," Blair had interrupted. "He's my partner, Simon."

          "He doesn't even know that, Sandburg!"

          "That doesn't make it less true."

          "Damn it–"

          "I'm coming back, Simon, with or without you."

          There'd been an explosive sigh, but Simon had eventually accepted Blair's determination and stomped out of the loft, leaving behind a good deal of advice and many worried glances.

          Joel had left with him, only saying quietly, "This is what you have to do, Blair, but don't forget that you're not dealing with your partner when you go back, all right?"

          Blair had nodded, unable to explain that even though he knew that was the case, it was also irrelevant. If he let fear force him to step back even a little, it might mean not getting Jim back, and he'd already been down that road once. He wasn't too sure he could deal with it again.

          Now, though, as he watched Kallini stride down the sidewalk toward his alley, he swallowed. The man was a stranger, one of the most dangerous he'd ever encountered, and to forget that might mean getting killed. And then what would happen to Jim?

          But in order to fight for his partner he had to forget his own danger and treat the stranger as if he were the Sentinel and friend that he so sorely missed.

          "Okay, into the breach," he breathed as James neared his shadowed hideaway. Not allowing himself to think about it, he stepped into the light falling into the mouth of the alley, and was rewarded by James' abrupt halt when the man saw him.

          "Hey!" Blair said softly, smiling at his partner. "I need to talk with you, Jim, come on back." He backed into the shadows, not missing the narrowed eyes or the set expression as the man followed him.

          "Okay, look, man," Blair started when he felt they were far enough down the corridor to allow for some privacy. "I know that–" He froze as James jerked his gun from the underarm holster he wore and pointed it at him, his expression grim.

          "I don't know who the hell you are, punk," Kallini snarled, "but I don't have time for this kind of crap." He advanced a step and Blair backed away.

          "So since I don't think you're going to go away if I tell you to, I guess I'm just going to send you away for good." He leveled the gun, and Blair took a breath, tense and ready to move, all his focus on Jim's eyes. The only moment he'd have would be the second when the ex-Sentinel squeezed the trigger; if he moved any sooner the thug would just shift his aim.

          "And you know something, punk? I'm going to enjoy it!"

 _He's talking too much_ , Blair thought, wondering if time had really slowed down or if Kallini was just taking longer to do the deed than he obviously intended. He remembered Jim describing his persona to him before the drug meet, and the kind of explanation and justification that Kallini had just given simply didn't fit with the ruthless killer his partner's words had painted. _Unless he's not one hundred percent Kallini any more, and this kind of delay is the only way Jim can give me a chance…_

          Delay or not, it still didn't give him much to work with. Jim was a deadly marksman, and Blair had seen him in action enough times to know it.

          So he was surprised, and yet in a way he wasn't, when James shook his head, suddenly squinting at Blair as if he were staring into a floodlight. He raised his free hand to shield his eyes, and then turned his head away, staggering backward at the same time.

          "Yes!" Blair whispered, recognizing the reaction. It was the same one that Jim had had to Lila when his senses had identified her as a danger even though he was attracted to her. Blair had hypothesized that it was a protection mechanism for a Sentinel, but he'd never envisioned being in a situation where he could test the opposing thesis that it was also a means of protecting the Sentinel's partner.

          He stepped forward as James retreated, the gun's level bore dropping as the man's concentration broke.

          "Jim?" Blair said, breathing fast. "Hey, man, remember when this happened before? It was with Lila, and you didn't want to hurt her. See, you don't really want to hurt me, either, 'cause you know, somewhere in there, that I'm your partner and–"

          Kallini swore, spun toward him, and fired wildly, his eyes tightly closed against the sensory glare.

          Blair felt the bullets strike, and the impact threw him backward, the ground coming up and hitting him with a wash of pain. He couldn't control the half-strangled cry as he fought for breath, and saw James flinch as if he'd been the victim. The anthropologist couldn't swear to it, but he thought he heard a low moan as the thug blinked at him, then reeled away, stumbling down the alley toward the sidewalk. But he couldn't spare the attention to watch the man any further, although his footsteps had faded by the time Blair finally managed to draw in a gasping breath, filling lungs forcibly emptied by the joint impact of bullet and fall.

          It took a few moments, but eventually he dragged himself to a sitting position against the nearby wall, then bent forward as a short spell of dry coughing racked him. He finished, took a difficult breath, then lifted his arms, removing his shirt with care. Leaning back, he relaxed again, breathing in short pants, and examined the material, grimacing as he fingered the bullet holes. "Damn," he husked. "Jim, that was one of my favorite shirts."

          Looking down, he pulled the vest open with slightly shaky fingers, sighing as some of the pressure eased from his already aching chest. Three spent cartridges nestled snugly in the material, glinting even in the shadows where he sat.

          For a man who'd been shooting blind, James Kallini had damn good aim. Blair was just glad he hadn't been able to try for a head shot. As it was, Simon was _not_ going to be happy with him, even if he had worn the vest, and Blair couldn't really blame him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "No!"

          James came out of the nightmare with a shout, and lay for a moment panting. He rolled his head over far enough to see the digital glow of the clock and sighed, laying an arm across his face to obscure the brash numerals. Three a.m. This was the third time he'd woken up tonight, each time with the same images running through his dreams.

_The stranger fell backward, flung by the bullets to lie spread-eagled, the dirt red under him. His eyes were open, blue and full of betrayal and disappointment, and his hands lay palm up, the quiet line of scar across his right glinting in the light._

          "Damn, damn, damn," whispered James, removing his arm and staring up into the darkness. Killing Sandburg had been a way to get rid of the problem, so why hadn't it done so? Why was the man haunting him so? He was dead, yes, but that was what he'd wanted, right?

 _Oh, God, Sandburg, I'm sorry_.

          Grief and despair suddenly swamped him, and he swiped his arm across his abruptly burning eyes.

          What the hell was going on? Where were these feelings coming from? Damn it, he didn't even know the punk's name!

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          His wristwatch read ten-thirty, and Blair sighed as he glanced around the restaurant again. Three hours he'd been sitting here hoping to spot Jim and Lindir doing their usual late breakfast, and nothing to show for it. No sign of either man, and the young man hoped that he and the others hadn't scared the two off of their regular schedule. But Joel and Simon had only been there a few days in all, and he'd only been there once. That might've been enough, but the anthropologist cum cop's partner rather doubted it. Lindir had struck him as a supremely confident man, and Kallini probably thought that Blair was dead. But the fact remained that late on a Friday morning the two simply weren't showing.

          Well, time to search elsewhere. He rose, picking up the bill that the waitress had pointedly delivered to him two hours before and headed over to the register, glad that he'd caught the host manning it.

          "Hey, have you seen Mr. Lindir here recently?" he asked as he counted out the change.

          "Hmm, no, actually, Mr. Lindir hasn't been here since Sunday," the older man replied, looking at him keenly. "Are you a police officer?"

 _That's the second time in a week_ , Blair mused wryly. _Did I pick up some mannerism somewhere that makes me as obvious as Simon or Joel or Jim? The gods forbid_. "No," he answered as he tucked his wallet away, "I'm an anthropologist."

          "Ah," the man said, nodding as Blair turned toward the door, but the shaman felt his gaze on him as he left, and shook his head as he exited. Somehow he didn't think the host had been convinced.

          He paused outside to scan the street in both directions, but there was no sign of the man he sought, and after hesitating a moment, he shrugged and started down the sidewalk that led to what he couldn't help but consider his alley. At least that area was familiar territory; he might as well start there first.

          He walked slowly but steadily, keeping an alert eye on everyone he saw, pausing by his alley to glance down it. He could see the scuff marks in the dirt where he'd dragged himself to the wall, but there was no sign of any other disturbance since that Sunday morning four days before. His gaze lingered a moment, a small smile touching his lips as he remembered Simon's violent reaction to the vest and its metallic contents. He wore its mate today, over the captain's vehement objections to his return.

          "Damn it, Sandburg, for the last time, you're not a cop!"

          "I never said I was, Simon! But Jim's my partner, and I'm going to get him back, with or without your help. Here." He shoved the used vest at Simon, dropping it on the chair when the older man showed no signs of taking it.

          He was turning to leave when Simon spat a disgusted oath and motioned to him to wait as he jerked the office door open and left the room, weaving expertly through the desks to a cabinet, which he rummaged through for a moment, then returned, holding another vest.

          Blair saw the eyes of every officer in the room follow him and sighed as the captain entered, slamming the office door hard enough that it rattled in its frame.

          "Here," Simon said through gritted teeth as he handed over the vest to the younger man.

          "Thanks," Blair answered, accepting the object and glancing out the window to witness the speculative gazes fixed on the office. He sighed again. "Simon, you know that everyone out there saw you do that. Now they'll all wonder–"

          "Sandburg, they're wondering already. You came back to this office, in daylight, looking like your usual self and not like someone missing his partner. You walked into my office and closed the door and pulled the shades. They're not detectives for nothing, and every one of them knows we didn't find Jim's body."

          Blair grimaced. "Well, yeah, but–"

          "No buts. If this works, Jim will hopefully come back here, and I'd prefer it if the people here have some advance warning so they don't keel over when he walks in the door."

          "Oh, I don't know," the graduate student replied, a small grin lighting his expression, "that might be worth seeing."

          "Sandburg, don't you have better things to do than bug me? Go on, get out of here! And wear that vest, damn it!"

          "Yes, sir," Blair answered, hand on the doorknob. "And, sir–"

          "Yeah, yeah, I know. Get!"

          Blinking out of the memory, the anthropologist shook his head and quickly glanced up and down the street. No one looked familiar, and he turned away from the alley and started pacing the street, studying every person in sight. _I'll find you, Jim. I will find you._

          It was going to be a long day.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          James stood in the shadow of a building and watched Blair climb into his car and pull the door shut. He could tell by the sag of the younger man's shoulders and the scuff of his walk that he was tired and discouraged, and Kallini shifted, unsure why he had the urge to stride to the car and climb in beside the man he'd tried to kill four days before.

          He had peered in the cafe window that morning and jumped when he'd seen the anthropologist in a booth. From his glances around the restaurant and his eager looks at the door every time it opened, it hadn't taken much deduction to realize that it was himself the younger man had been waiting for, and James couldn't deny the warm feeling that rose in him at the realization. That and the leap of wild joy at first sight of the younger man.

 _Thank God he's alive_.

          Although why that fact should be anything but a setback Kallini simply couldn't fathom. Regardless, he had trailed the punk all day, carefully out of sight – and that took some doing, too; the young man was good at what he did, but he wasn't expecting to see James shadowing him, so he didn't. Why Kallini should care about the kid's alertness, or his safety, or his feelings of discouragement or weariness he didn't know, but he did, and as he watched the small car weave its way into traffic, heading toward the freeway and Cascade and home, James couldn't shake the feeling that he'd missed a chance to set things right.

_What things? Set them right how? Nothing's wrong, damn it!_

          Except that he'd neglected his own work all day and now only had a few hours of evening to start doing what he should've taken care of before. Good thing that Lindir was delegating more and more power to him and so hadn't seen Sandburg; that wouldn't be good at all.

_And why the hell is that? All Lindir would do would be to tell me to kill him, which I already tried to do – kid must've worn a vest, probably still is. Smart._

          He shook his head and turned away from the parking lot. He'd have to keep an eye out; the anthropologist would probably be back. And as he headed back to work he tried not to wonder why he couldn't help but look forward to Sandburg's return.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair stood on the edge of a small pier, staring out across the bay. The location was only a short distance from where he and Simon had been when the boat had blown up ten weeks before and started the whole mess.

 _Damn, damn, damn_. It was Saturday, the day after his former visit, and nothing to show for it. Yet another day gone and no sign of Jim. He'd started at the cafe this morning, then wandered the area, again with nothing to show for it. It was almost as if Jim was avoiding him, with spectacular success, at that. But damn it, the man would have no reason to avoid him; Kallini was a thug who didn't like Blair, but his first reaction would be to kill him, not run from him. _And don't I know that firsthand!_ Blair thought sourly, shifting slightly to ease the constriction of the vest around his chest.

          But there had to be some way to find the man! He couldn't keep doing this with nothing to show for it; he had a number of things that needed doing back home, among them grading his summer students' final exams, due on Monday, so he'd have to work all day tomorrow, plus putting the finishing touches on his upcoming semester syllabi. He'd been very good at keeping up with all of it so far, but things were speeding up as the campus geared up to start the fall semester. Searching for Jim was taking up huge chunks of time that he would soon not have much of, and sooner or later something was going to slip. And the last thing he or Jim needed was for Blair to get in trouble with his department, especially after being accepted as part of a major grant that had just been allotted to them. Things were good right now, and the grad student wanted them to continue that way.

          But first he and Jim had to build their bridge home, and he sighed in frustration, jerking away from the bay in one swift turn that let him see the equally quick movement behind him.

          He hesitated, then paced forward, peering around the corner into an alley, his eyes widening.

          "Jim!" he enthused, stepping into the fence-spanned corridor with a wide smile. "Man, I am so glad to see you!"

          Kallini backed away, the expression on his face one of bewildered tension, then, as the graduate student advanced, he spun and vanished through an opening.

          Blair gave chase, but when he stepped out of the alley into the small flagstone square bounded by the public library on one side and a park on the other, there was no sign of the man and the anthropologist halted, thwarted. "Jim!"

          The words echoed faintly and Blair shifted his gaze as a shadow crossed his path. The panther padded past him, then stood for a moment in the shadow of the library. Hope leaped high in the shaman's breast, and he smiled. It was the first time he'd seen the panther since his dream-vision with Incacha, and though the animal's form was faint, it was definitely visible, much more so than it had been in the jungle. Something was changing for the better. He blinked, and the furred shadow was gone. He felt eyes on him, and sighed.

          "Damn it, Jim," he said, his words carrying easily, "you can run but you can't hide. Not from me. Sooner or later, I'll bring you home. I promise that!"

          He waited a minute, then glanced at his watch and grimaced. If he was to make that appointment with the chair of his committee, he had to leave now. Too bad the man treated weekends like weekdays. "I'll be back," he said to the echoing silence as he turned to head back to his car. "I will be back, Jim."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Kallini leaned back and let his gaze skirt those sitting around the table, only half-hearing Lindir's welcome. Each man listening was a drug dealer from somewhere in Washington, with several from major cities such as Cascade and Seattle, and even a few from out of state. And James sat at the right hand of the man who had called them together, the man who would lead them into an alliance that would in time spread across the western region. He lifted his head, pride thrusting through him, and saw the answering flicker of assurance in August's eyes as he finished his speech and glanced sidewise at his lieutenant.

          But there was one man that Kallini knew was not happy with the current state of affairs, and as the conversation turned into a set of ripostes and parries, the end result of which would be such a far flung alliance, James thought of that one.

          Deren.

          Lindir's former lieutenant was not present now, but at an earlier, smaller meeting he had been, and it had been there that James had felt the gaze on the back of his neck, and turning, found the man staring at him from a corner behind Lindir, now his regular post as August's bodyguard. The glare had been full of narrow-eyed hatred, and now, thinking back on it, Kallini knew that Deren would do his best to scuttle James' position with August, and that since he hadn't been able to discredit the first lieutenant so far, the man would probably try to kill him to achieve his own ascension.

          He would definitely need to watch his back, and for just a moment he felt empty and bereft, as if there should be someone standing with him.

          But he stood alone. He had always stood alone. Why did that feel strange now?

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Joel sipped his coffee and glanced around the restaurant. No sign of Lindir or Jim, and he'd been here for two hours. Probably time to start wandering and see if he could find either man.

          He grimaced as he set the cup down and reached for the bill, making sure he left a good tip for the overly patient waitress. He thought back to the message he'd left on Simon's machine at work and shook his head. The rest of the day he'd taken off to come down and look for Jim would hopefully go better than this morning was; he hated wasting time, and with no sightings that was what this would be, although what he would do if he did see Jim he wasn't really sure; the man certainly didn't remember either himself or Simon, and to follow him without some sort of plan seemed foolish.

          But what else could he do? Blair seemed to be the only one who could pull something from Jim that was worth anything, and Joel wasn't too sure that what he was getting was anything good. After Kallini had shot Sandburg the other day he and Simon hadn't been at all positive that there was anything of Jim left in the man. But telling the anthropologist that was impossible, and after all, the younger man did have something with Jim that no one else did. All they could do at this point was trust him to know what he was doing, but to leave him to do it alone made Joel extremely edgy, and he knew Simon wasn't in any better case.

          So the least he could do was to come down and look for Jim, keep an eye on him, if nothing else. And help Blair, if he ran into the young man.

          But this wasn't looking like a good day for either purpose, and as he wandered the streets around the cafe, even working his way out to the piers that bounded the bay, he wondered if Jim had some kind of sixth sense that allowed him to escape surveillance, even without Sentinel senses. He wouldn't put it past him.

          Finally, late in the evening Joel was forced to admit defeat, climbing into his car with a frustration that he barely managed to tamp down enough to pull safely out into traffic. How would this end, he wondered as he merged into the freeway lane leading back to Cascade. If Jim did regain his memory and become Ellison again in place of Kallini, would he come back to his department? And how would he do that? It looked pretty certain that Kallini had killed at least one man, and could quite possibly have killed more during his time with Lindir. How would they reconcile that with the police officer he was? It was true that the argument could literally be made that Jim was not in his right mind and so couldn't be held accountable, but even if that flew with the law Joel wasn't at all certain how it would work with Jim himself.

          And he'd tried to kill Blair. How would – could – he reconcile that with who he was? On the other hand, how could he walk away? If his senses returned, James Ellison was a Sentinel and Sandburg was his partner. He couldn't walk away from that responsibility or that partnership. Such desertion would be worse for Sandburg than suffering his friend's death had been.

          Joel swung into the off-ramp at Cascade, shaking his head as he headed toward home. Damn, this situation was confusing, and he couldn't even guess how it would turn out, except that he really hoped, for all their sakes, that it did. Especially for Blair.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          James stopped and eyed the cafe warily, examining everyone entering it. He'd been by every morning since Sandburg had left, and although he couldn't admit it to himself, he was waiting for the younger man to return. Not that he really expected to see him today. He was beginning to pick up on the pattern; the anthropologist generally made it into town one day late in the week, and would then turn up again either Saturday or Sunday. Today was Wednesday, so he probably wouldn't be there. But it did no harm to check. After all, that burly police captain had been there the day before, and James didn't want to be sighted by him, either.

          Pacing across the street, Kallini leaned to peer through the window. Thanks to the move, the bullet that would've plowed through his back arced stingingly across his shoulder instead, and he leaped backward as the glass pane facing him cracked and exploded at the impact, muted though it was by its journey through his flesh. He whirled, staring back along the bullet's trajectory as screams and shouts broke out around him.

          But there was no sign of anyone in that direction who looked suspicious, and he shrugged, regretting the gesture too late as ripples of pain raced down his arm, making his fingers twitch as the nerves burned. With a muttered curse, he dropped his gaze from the upper story windows and started to turn away.

          That was when he saw him. Simon Banks stood right across the street, staring at him with wide eyes in which Kallini read a concern that both puzzled and warmed him at the same time. The officer started toward him, and James quickly shoved his way through the crowd, ignoring the questions and comments as he escaped the area, only drawing a deep breath when he was out of sight of the cafe or Banks.

          Pressing a hand against the wound, he turned down a street, almost immediately swerving into the yard of a man he knew who had some doctoring ability and wouldn't talk to others about it.

          A few minutes later, seated and shirtless under the ex-medic's survey, he thought about what he'd seen.

          All in all, he was inclined to blame the shooting on Deren or his lackey, but the fact remained that Simon Banks had been there, too, and although he didn't believe the police officer would shoot him for no reason, still, he'd have to be wary of the man from now on.

          For he knew, just as he knew that Sandburg would return, would've known even without the anthropologist warning him, that Simon, too, would be back. For some reason he didn't understand, he and the two African-American officers and Sandburg were linked, and until that connection was resolved, he and they would see each other again.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair tried to take a breath around the fist clenching his shirt. "Hey, mister, I don't have any money on me, so why don't you just let me go and we'll–"

          The teenager holding the gun to his head grinned. "Nothin', huh? Well, then, maybe I should just kill you and take your shoes instead, or your pants, or–"

          All Blair saw was a blur of motion, but the kid's voice cut off with a sudden squeak and the grad student found himself sliding down the wall of the alley. It was abruptly easy to breathe again, and he stiffened his knees, catching himself before he collapsed any further.

          He steadied himself against the wall and glanced up, jerking in a breath as the tableau a few feet away registered. "Jim, no! Don't kill him!"

          Kallini hesitated for a long moment, the boy's heels swinging in midair as he considered. The teen's eyes were wide and panicked, and Blair stepped toward the two. "Please, Jim!"

          James hesitated, but the anthropologist saw the faint change steal across his face and relaxed as the assassin shoved the kid against the wall and leaned closer. "You hear him, punk? You owe him your life; remember it. Because if I ever see you again, you're dead."

          The boy nodded frantically, darting away the moment the powerful hand released him, and Blair smiled as he watched him vanish around a corner. So he wasn't prepared for the harsh shove that lifted him two feet and slammed him into the wall with a force the teen could never have matched.

          Time rippled in Blair's mind, and he found himself suddenly remembering the moment in his office, more than four years before, when Jim had done the same thing, and without really thinking about it, he reached out and touched him lightly on the chin. "Look, you mess with me, man, and you're _never_ gonna figure out what's up with you!"

          There was a sharp moment of tension, and then the pressure on the grad student's windpipe strengthened. "Who _are_ you?" Kallini growled, baffled frustration in the words.

          Blair took a difficult breath and whispered. "I'm your partner."

          The moment held, and then the thug dropped him like a sack of iron and strode off down the alley.

          The shaman took a breath and started after him, only to go down again as James turned and punched him.

          Blair had been hit before, but never like that. The world was a very fuzzy thing as he was thrown backward, aware of air under him, and then the _slap_ as the ground hit him from behind. Darkness rolled over him like smoke, but he could just feel Jim's fingers checking his carotid for a pulse, knew the relief that moved through the ex-Sentinel when he found it, and then there was a confused moment of arms and legs and empty space, until he found himself being carried as the man turned and strode off down the alley. And then there was nothing.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

_Why'n bloody hell am I doing this?_

          Kallini couldn't answer the question, so he ignored it, wishing he could do the same for the man so light in his arms. Blair's head was tucked against his shoulder, the limpness of his body and his even breathing telling the story of his unconsciousness, and James caught himself looking down at him and smiling. Feelings moved through him that he didn't understand – affection, wry humor, respect for Blair's stubbornness, and a longing so intense that he cut it off before it drove him to take the man back to his car and drive him home.

 _But it's my home, too_. The thought was faint, though, and Kallini determinedly overlooked it.

          He sighed as he entered a furniture store that he'd 'visited' a few days before, pausing beside a lean back chair and studying the anthropologist, who was starting to stir faintly. He couldn't have left the kid in the alley; the punk he'd scared off might find him again. Or the punk's friends might. Or some homeless guy might pick his pockets, or someone else might hurt him…

          He lowered the younger man into the chair, settling him carefully before turning an icy glare on the store owner who hovered nearby, eyeing him fearfully.

          "He's off limits," he said harshly, nodding at Blair without taking his eyes from the man. "If you hurt him, or if you call the police, I'll come back here again and you'll never see the light of another day. Is that clear?"

          The man nodded, backing away when James waved him off. When he was out of sight on the other side of the store the ex-cop looked back down at the grad student, his expression gentling as he absently reached down to tug at a strand of the hair that was escaping the ponytail. _God, Blair, I wish I could go home with you_.

          Where the hell had _that_ come from? Kallini jerked his hand away from the younger man and turned on his heel, striding out of the store without a backward glance.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "All right," Simon said, glancing from one of his companions to the other. "I've got an idea." It was Sunday evening, and outside the loft the sun was setting.

          The other two just looked at him, Joel from the armchair at one side of the low table fronting the French doors in the loft, Blair from his cross-legged pose on the couch set cattycorner to it.

          "Hrumph," muttered Simon when neither listener responded. "Okay, I don't think this solo act we've all been on is working. I know Joel's been down there to look for Jim, and so have I. I assume you've been down there since Kallini shot you, Sandburg, but it seems that we've all had a real lack of success finding or keeping track of him."

          "Uh, well," Blair interrupted, meeting the captain's annoyed stare with a serious one of his own, "I've actually had pretty good luck so far. After I realized that he was following me, that is."

          Simon rolled his eyes. "Sandburg, if anyone could find Jim, it'd be you. But maybe we'd get more done if we all go down together to a drug meet this coming Tuesday night that Lindir's supposed to be behind, and see if we can find Jim there. And bring him home. Besides," he added before Blair could cut in, "the way your luck runs, Sandburg, you'd probably wander right into it, and I'm damned if I'm going to let that happen."

          "Bring him home?" Blair's question was edged with alarm, and he sat up straighter. "What do you mean, bring him home? What happens if we catch him at this drug meet and he's part of it?"

          Simon swapped glances with Joel, then looked back at the younger man. "Then we bust him."

          "What! But– But he's not really guilty; that's Kallini, man, not Jim, and you know it! Why–?"

          "At least that way we'd have him and we could work on his memories while he's in custody." Banks' voice was grim, and Blair stared at him, shocked.

          "In custody? What're you talking about, Simon? What's wrong with waiting until he comes in himself?" _They've already talked about this and decided to do it!_

          "Nothing," Simon answered, his gaze steady on the younger man, not without sympathy. "But he's not doing that, Sandburg, and we can't wait for him anymore. One way or another we need to get him off the street. He's too dangerous a man to leave under Lindir, even without his senses, and Jim designed Kallini to be an expert with a gun, a knife, and in physical combat." He paused to take a breath. "The man is deadly, and we can't ignore that."

          "There's something else, too," Joel added reluctantly, meeting the anthropologist's eyes as he turned. "What if his senses come back before his memories do, Blair? Then we've got a Sentinel out there, without any regard for the law, committed to an up and coming drug mogul, with skills that we trained him in. We can't let that happen."

          "It won't!" Blair insisted, switching his panicked glance back to Banks. "Simon, it won't, I promise! He's coming closer every day, just give us a couple more weeks and I can bring him back, I know it! Please!"

          Simon sighed. "I wish I could, Sandburg, but I'm out of options here. The captain of their PD is an old friend of mine, and that's all that's kept us out of hot water so far. He's looked the other way and ignored us and Jim up to now. But he's the one who tipped me to the drug meet, and although he's willing to let us take care of the situation ourselves, if we don't, he'll have to. Damn it, Blair, he can only turn a blind eye for so long," he added at Blair's accusing look. "He's a cop; he has to act on that information or let Lindir win the city. He's being pressured to act, and if we don't get Jim out of there he'll be forced to arrest him and the whole thing will come out."

          Blair pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, bending forward to rest his elbows on his crossed legs. In the face of his silence, the two officers watched him, wordless.

          At last Blair raised his head, dropping his hands to his knees and focusing on the Major Crimes captain. "I don't know if I can pull him back that quickly, Simon. I'm close, but…" He shook his head, then added, "But I'll try." He took a breath. "Just how far are you going to go to arrest him if he doesn't want to be arrested?"

          Simon swallowed, exchanging glances with Joel, who looked equally sober. "As far as we have to, Blair," he said, his voice almost gentle. "I don't want to bring him in dead or alive, if that's what you mean."

          "Yeah," the grad student said unsmilingly, "that's what I mean."

          Simon looked at him, hating the helpless feeling that roiled in his gut. Damn it, he'd become a police officer to stand between the innocents and those who would use them, to serve the citizens of his nation, his state, and his city, and to protect them against all manner of harm. He wasn't used to feeling impotent in that role, and he gritted his teeth against the angry words he wanted to use.

          There'd been a time, not so very long ago, that he'd placed Blair on the other side of that line of defense, and Jim on his own. When had the world shifted? Now Sandburg stood beside him, trying to defend civilians from dangers he himself wasn't even trained against, while Jim was the one who stood in need of protection.

          He shook his head, then said tiredly, "I don't know, Blair. We'll just have to play that by ear. But he's my friend, too, and I want him to come home as much as you do."

          Blair lifted grave eyes to meet his, then nodded. "Tuesday night, then."

          The other two agreed, and left, but each of the three lay awake long hours that night, staring into the darkness and wondering what Tuesday night would bring.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair trailed Simon and Joel to the warehouse, halting behind them when the two men stopped to study the terrain before turning a corner. They moved finally, stepping into the fall of late afternoon sunlight to wrestle a nearby door open and quickly step through it. The grad student hesitated as he followed, squinting into the sunset.

          Joel held the door for Blair, motioning him forward with impatient gestures when he stumbled into a light-blurred pothole. The anthropologist caught his balance and skipped toward the Bomb Squad captain, ducking through the door just as they heard a car swing into the parking lot behind them.

          Joel closed the door on Blair's heels and followed the younger man into the building's interior, only dimly lit by the dirty windows set high above the floor.

          A dim figure halted ahead of him, then sidestepped into the shadows, and the young shaman quickened his pace to catch up with it. "Simon!" he hissed. "Simon, I really don't think–"

          A hand jerked him behind a haphazard pile of boxes, a palm over his mouth cutting off the words.

          "Damn it, Sandburg!" Banks whispered, the fierce annoyance clear even in the subdued words. "Do you mind? I know you've done this kind of thing with Jim, so what're you trying to do, warn everyone that we're here?"

          "Sorry," Blair breathed as Simon released him. "I just don't like this, sir."

          The captain scowled, shifting over to give Joel more room as he slid into place beside them, moving like a shadow. "It's a little late now!"

          "Sorry," Blair repeated softly, ducking his head against the glare levied at him.

          Any comment that the officer would've made was cut off by the slam of a nearby door. A low conversation drifted their way, and Blair shifted as he recognized one of the voices.

          Jim and Lindir entered the open area within view of the three, talking in low voices and trailed by another man carrying a suitcase. The anthropologist swallowed against the urge to step out and throw himself at Jim, reminding himself that Kallini would definitely not appreciate the interference and might actually be able to act on his annoyance before Jim could stop him. Not to mention what Simon and Joel would do to Blair afterward. The tug faded, and he drew in a silent breath.

          Jim paused, frowning slightly as he fell behind Lindir and the other man, then turned to stare at the boxes behind which Blair hid, a questioning look on his features that made the shaman's heart twist at its familiarity. Jim's senses might not be 'on-line,' so to speak, but something was drawing his partner to the younger man's location.

          Simon shifted slightly, and Blair heard his drawn breath. Without thinking he reached out and laid a hand on the man's shoulder, absently shaking his head to warn of silence at the sharp look he received. Lifting his hand, he bowed his own head and closed his eyes, one hand clenching into a loose fist as he concentrated on trying to climb into Jim's mind. _Sandburg isn't there, it's only empty space, a shadow, a memory, a wish. Nothing's there, nothing at all._

          A light touch drew him out of his reverie minutes later, and he opened his eyes to find Simon looking at him soberly, all anger gone. Ahead of them the area was empty again, with Joel edging around its corners toward the passageway that Blair instinctively knew Jim had used.

          "What was that?" Simon whispered. "I thought his senses weren't working."

          Blair shook his head, acknowledging the sick, empty feeling in himself at the missed opportunity. "They aren't," he answered softly, "at least as far as I can tell. But he's beginning to pick up on me, some way."

          "What'd you do?" Simon asked, urging him out to follow Joel.

          Blair shrugged as he stood. "I tried to create the impression that I wasn't there." He moved ahead, ignoring the uneasy look the captain turned on him.

          A few minutes later they joined Joel, crouching beside him in the shadow of a loader on the edge of an open space where three men stood together facing Lindir's group.

          Blair's gaze sped over the gathering, and he frowned as Simon's earlier explanation drifted through his mind. _The meet's between representatives of a major drug distributor, maybe even a Columbian drug lord, and Lindir._ Simon's voice was dry, his mouth twisted. _He's trying to recreate the pipeline that that boat's explosion disrupted, and it looks like he's succeeding. If we're really lucky, Lindir himself might be there, and nailing him would be a real bonus, even if Captain Turner gets the credit_.

 _But at least it'll get him off the street,_ Joel had said grimly.

          Now, thinking back on that conversation, the anthropologist grimaced, staring at Jim as he stood beside Lindir and the suitcase man off to one side of the open space. _Damn it, Jim, what've you got yourself into, working for a major drug distributor? And how're we going to get you out of it?_

          His gaze shifted to the opposing group and he studied them curiously. One wore a suit remarkably similar to August's, and the anthropologist briefly wondered if all major drug dealers shopped from the same catalog. The other two men were obviously subordinates, but both were empty-handed, and Blair wondered where the drugs were that Lindir was supposedly buying.

          Evidently August was thinking the same thing, because he exchanged a brief glance with Kallini, who stepped forward, immediately garnering everyone's attention.

          "Where're the goods?" he asked, and if the tone was civil, there was a definite edge to the words that warned of certain mayhem if the answer was not to his liking. Blair saw the suitcase man standing behind Lindir shift slightly and knew that he was ready to drop the case and use a gun if circumstances warranted it, and August's readiness to do the same vibrated through the air. The young shaman drew a tense breath, feeling Simon's and Joel's muscles tighten with his own.

          "Gentlemen, gentlemen." The leader of the other group sounded very urbane and assured, but Blair didn't relax, and he sensed that Simon and Joel didn't either.

          "Come, let's be civilized here. I am Mr. X."

          Blair felt the repressed snort from Simon, and his own lips twitched. It seemed that screenwriters of suspense and mystery shows weren't the only ones who enjoyed mysterious names and dramatic dialogue.

          August inclined his head, nodding slightly to Kallini.

          "Mr. Lindir," James said shortly.

          Mr. X sighed regretfully, then continued briskly. "Certainly you realize that we couldn't carry such a large quantity of 'goods' on our persons. We had it delivered here two days ago, and we will reveal its location when we see the money." The man's voice sounded eminently reasonable, and he spread his hands in a placating gesture, although his stance made it clear that he stood prepared to defend his position.

          August paused, studying the man for a moment, then nodded to Kallini, who stepped back to his side, nodding courteously to his opponent, who returned the gesture. Lindir gestured to the suitcase man, motioning him forward. "Deren, if you please?"

          Deren paced forward, then bent to place the suitcase on a small box set in the middle of the space between the two parties and flipped the clasps, lifting the top and setting it open. Blair blinked at the neatly stacked bills, swallowing as he tried to guess the amount. For a moment he thought of his own austere life, lived as frugally as most graduate students except for Jim's input, and he sighed silently. It just didn't seem fair that there should be people with this much money to throw around when those who dedicated their lives to learning and studying had so little.

          He heard Joel carefully step away from his place, moving out at Simon's gesture to bring another angle to bear on the situation when they moved out, and wondered if they felt the same way sometimes. After all, police officers weren't paid that well either, and they certainly didn't have access to the kind of money he could see out there. For a moment the anthropologist could understand why some cops gave into the temptation, storing away some of that money for themselves, and he drew a breath.

          But then there were other officers of the law who did their duty and acted to protect and serve their communities as well as they could, withstanding temptation for very little reward, and glancing sideways, Blair knew that the two men he respected so much were of that group, and he counted himself fortunate to have met them. Jim was that kind of man, too, and the thought brought him back to the reason for their being there.

          Mr. X eyed the money, then nodded to one of his subordinates, who moved forward and bent to flip through the money, straightening when he'd checked through it.

          "Very well," Mr. X said, smiling. "Frank."

          His other subordinate stepped over to a large box nearby and flipped out a pocketknife, sliding the blade along the flaps and pushing them open. He sheathed the knife and moved back to his place by his employer, while Deren, at Lindir's nod, stalked over to the box. Reaching in, he lifted out several bags of white powder and held them up for August to view.

          The drug dealer nodded, and Mr. X smiled again. Bending, he snapped the case shut and hefted it, handing it over to one of his followers before turning down one of the passages and quickly vanishing into its shadow.

          Blair felt the frustration that surged through Simon and respected it. To let the man walk out of a police-witnessed drug exchange took every bit of the captain's control, and the police observer knew it. But there were only two of the officers against six armed men, and Banks was saddled with a civilian to boot. The odds were too much against them, and anyway, they were here to grab Jim; anyone else was a bonus.

          But it hurt, nonetheless, and Blair knew that the discipline that shook through the muscles of the man next to him was a measure of his concern and care for Jim – not that Simon would ever admit to it, of course.

          Deren was hungrily digging through the box, exploring layers of drug-packed bags, while Kallini was tapping in a number on his cell phone. "Come get it," he said briefly when the connection was established, and pressed the off button as he turned to follow Lindir over to the box.

          Blair heard the inhalation from Simon, and so was prepared for his brusque shout, "Police! Get down on the floor!"

          "Do it now!" yelled Joel.

          All three of their opponents whirled as Simon and Joel advanced out of the shadows, weapons steady. Kallini's eyes narrowed at sight of the two officers, then hardened as Blair stepped out behind them.

          For a moment it seemed as if they might carry the day, and then everything degenerated into a shooting match as one of the three managed to fire. Simon and Joel threw themselves back into cover, and Blair dodged back behind the loader, watching as Lindir's group faded back into the shadows.

          For a moment there was silence as everyone regrouped, and then Joel raised his voice. "Hey, Ellison! Come on, drop it and come back with us!"

          "Jim!" Simon shouted. "We're your friends; you know that somewhere! Trust us!"

          "I don't know you!" Kallini's snarl was loud and sharp, and Blair winced, standing before he thought of it.

          "Hey, man! You know me! Don't deny it! Come on, Jim, come home with us! Please!"

          "Damn it, Sandburg, get down!" Simon's charge threw Blair back into the loader just in time to miss the bullet that whined through the space where he'd been standing.

          "Kid, I swear… How many times do I have to tell you that he doesn't know you right now?!"

          Blair ran a hand over the bump on his head, blinking up at Simon as the African-American loomed over the anthropologist. "That was Lindir," he said simply, unsure how he knew it but secure in its truth. "Jim wouldn't shoot me."

          "He did before!" Simon all but thundered, the fierce growl echoing in their dark corner. "Just stay out of this, Sandburg, all right?!" Without waiting for an answer he faded into the shadows again, then threw himself across the empty space, rolling as bullets pinged around him. Blair caught a glimpse of swift movement from Joel's direction as well, and knew the two were moving in on the ex-Sentinel.

          He waited a moment, then rose and worked his way after them, dodging from shadow to shadow with all the skill he'd learned from Jim. The irony of using those abilities to hunt down his friend didn't escape him, but he ignored it, moving as quickly as he could. He had a bad feeling about what would happen if Simon and Joel cornered Jim and he wasn't there. Gunshots echoed up ahead and he quickened his pace.

          He edged around a corner and froze, taking in the scene with one quick glance. Joel stood in the entrance of one passageway, his hands raised and his gun at his feet as he confronted Kallini, who stood facing him, gun drawn and steady.

          There was no smile on James' face, and Blair knew he was in full Kallini mode, the ruthless killer expert in his trade and acting on it. Blair had just taken a breath to enter the fray when another player made his entrance.

          Simon stepped into another corridor to Kallini's left, his pose solid and calm, his weapon trained on the man he'd called a friend for more years than Blair could guess. "All right, Jim," he said quietly. "That's enough. Let him go, and we'll talk about it."

          Kallini let out a sharp bark of laughter, his aim never wavering from Joel's head. "Talk? About what? For the last time, Banks, I don't know you! Or him!" His inclusion of Joel in the statement was clear, and Blair's heart sank as he saw the doubt in Simon's eyes.

          "Yes, you do!" Joel snapped, not moving. "You remember Natalie, Jim? Sure you do! I was the one who killed her, remember? And then we found Sandburg in the hospital, nearly dead. You were pretty upset over that! Come on, Ellison, you have a life! Come back to it, for God's sake!"

          James' weapon didn't waver, but he didn't fire, either, and Blair hunched his shoulders against the shiver that raked down his spine, hope rising again. He hadn't expected either officer to use those memories against Jim, but it was true that he'd told Joel more about his interactions with the ex-Sentinel than he'd told Simon. Evidently the burly African-American remembered.

          Simon took advantage of Kallini's seeming distraction to step forward, and a whirlpool of events cascaded out of that moment, even as Blair opened his mouth to halt his friend's action.

          Kallini caught Simon's move out of the corner of his eye and whirled, firing twice in quick succession. Joel bent and grabbed his gun, shooting even as Simon crumbled, and James dodged the bullets without looking, throwing himself back into a hollow in the boxes and bringing his weapon up as Joel hurtled out of his passageway to drop beside Simon, who lay still, jerking faintly.

          Time slowed for Blair, reality's flow surging over him until he felt every moment of his action as he vaulted out of the shadows and into the open space, crossing it in a fast sprint until he skidded to a halt in front of Jim. He yanked him to his feet, feeling the cloth of the man's shirt rough under his hands, seeing the startled recognition in James' eyes, the slackness of the fingers holding the gun, hearing the rasp of Simon's breath behind him as he struggled to catch his breath against the shattering impact of two bullets at short range.

          "Damn it, Jim!" the grad student snapped, his weight bearing the ex-Sentinel back against the boxes stacked behind him. "What do you think you're doing, man?! You can say you don't know them, but you do, somewhere, and you sure as hell know me! So come back to us already, and let's go home! We have better things to do than this, and you know it!"

          Kallini squinted at him, and then shook his head, his expression flustered. When he looked back at Blair, it was Jim's eyes that met his, and the shaman took a quick breath. _Yes!_

          "Come on, Jim," he said softly. "You can do it, I know it. Come back to me, man!"

          Jim stared at him, reaching to touch Blair's cheek with a gentle touch.

"Chief…"

          It was the barest whisper, but the young man swallowed quickly, fighting back the burning in his eyes. "Yeah, Jim, it's me. Come on, man, you're so close, can't you feel it?

          Jim blinked, his breathing harshening, and Blair's fingers tightened on his shoulders, feeling the muscles there cord as the ex-Sentinel's hands clenched into fists.

          It only lasted a moment, and then Kallini backhanded Blair into the empty space behind him, and vanished down a nearby corridor, his footsteps pounding into the darkness.

          "Damn, damn, damn, damn, _damn!_ " whispered Blair as he sat on the dusty floor, his head ringing. Tears of frustration burned his eyes and he shook his head fiercely, raising an arm to wipe them. "Damn it! So close!"

          "Not close enough." Joel's voice was weary, and the anthropologist turned enough to look over his shoulder at the man. "I could use some help here, Blair."

          Scrubbing his sleeve across his eyes one more time, Blair took a deep breath and let it out, trying to let the disappointment go. Life called, and he had other responsibilities, and other friends, too.

          Rising carefully, he stepped over to kneel beside Simon on the man's other side, wincing as the movement jarred his growing headache.

          Simon wheezed, fighting to breathe, and Blair grimaced sympathetically, his own too-recent experience fresh in his mind as he helped Joel sit his friend up. Together they managed to get the captain's shirt off, then Joel carefully undid the vest that rose and fell with Banks' struggles, handing it to the grad student.

          It was a few minutes before Simon's breathing calmed enough to sit up, and a good half hour before the three of them made their way back to their car, silent and empty-handed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          James lay back in his bed that evening, hands behind his head as he considered the evening. Not good, not good at all. On the plus side, at least the delivery of the drugs had gone well, and the rep probably hadn't known anything went wrong, so their connection there might still be good. On the down side, though, they'd lost the shipment to the police, probably called in by Banks and his friends.

          That thought led him straight into the heart of the matter, and he shifted uneasily as he considered the rest of the evening. The thing that really disturbed him was that he didn't remember what had happened after Banks and Taggert stepped out to face him. Bits and pieces remained to him, some of them misty and dim. But past his shooting of Banks, it was a complete blank until he found himself panting outside the warehouse, quickly joined by Lindir and Deren.

          August had been coldly furious, querying him relentlessly on the identity of the three men. He was frank about Banks and Taggert, saying only the truths that they all knew, that the two were police officers from Cascade, obviously down here to pursue them.

          Lindir had nodded thoughtfully at that, and then asked about Sandburg, his words making it clear that although he hadn't heard what had gone on in the warehouse, he'd seen enough to be dangerous, although why that fact should bother his first lieutenant was beyond him.

          And that was where Kallini found himself lying through his teeth. He had looked his boss in the eye and said that he didn't know the kid from Adam, had never seen him, had no connection with him.

          "Umm," August said as they settled into the limo waiting for them. "Fine. He seems to think he knows you, and that could be a problem. Get rid of him."

          "No problem," Kallini had said easily, and meant it.

          Only now, as he settled down to plan the hit, he found out it was a very big problem indeed.

          He didn't want to kill Sandburg. He didn't even want to hurt him. He wanted to call him up and go out to dinner with him, maybe to that little restaurant on the corner that they both liked–

_What the hell is going on in my head?_

          He'd never been to that restaurant, never had dinner with the kid, didn't even know his name!

          Yes, he did. Blair Sandburg. Grad student from Cascade. His partner.

          And how could he know any of that? It didn't make sense! And he'd never had a partner!

 _Am I going mad?_ It was the first time the question had occurred to him, and lying there in his bed, he shivered, suddenly aware of a yawning hole of blackness in his soul, eating him from the inside out.

          The key was Sandburg. So if he killed the man, the problem might go away at the same time.

 _You tried that once and it didn't work_.

_So I'll try it again._

_Against Blair? He's your partner, your best friend, your blood brother. And more than that, much more._

_I don't care. I've been told to kill him, and I'm going to._

_Why?_

          The question didn't make sense, and James frowned. _Because Lindir told me to._

          There was a brief sense of frustration from his imaginary questioner, and then it hardened into resolve. _No, you won't._

          Kallini sat up, his own anger at the denial surging upward. _Yes, I will. I know where he lives, what he does, even the car he drives._ Images flickered through his mind, a loft apartment, Blair with a backpack exiting it, an older car.

_No!_

          The fear behind the exclamation made Kallini grin, and he lay back smugly. _Stop me._

          Silence, then finally, the quiet answer, _All right. I will._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim seated himself carefully on the floor, looking around him wistfully at his imaginary image of the loft. He remembered Sandburg telling him at some point that finding one's safe place was imperative before beginning any real work on the mental plane. The comment hadn't made any sense then, but now, somehow, Jim didn't have any trouble understanding it, and when he'd asked himself where his safe place was, he knew immediately that it was the loft. There was the sense of Blair close by, and if he focused, he could hear his partner's heartbeat.

          That would be his ground. Now, how to go about this? He needed to stop Kallini from killing Blair, and the only way to do that was to take back his life for himself. His mind skipped back to the times he'd watched Blair build a ritual and he frowned.

          Imagery meant a lot in this place, and things were what you thought them to be. So if he wanted to remove Kallini from control and reassert his own, maybe he wanted to imprison him.

          He remembered standing in line with Blair in the grocery store checkout line and hearing a snippet of a Disney movie on the TV set to catch those waiting in each aisle. He didn't even know the title, but there'd been a genie, and a lamp, and one line remained in his memory. "Itty bitty living space!"

          Taking a breath, he closed his eyes, building the image as carefully as possible, and then opened them and looked down at the lamp gleaming in front of him. Picking it up, he ran his fingers along the sleek sides, enjoying the smoothness, and a brief smile flickered on his lips as he considered that he was going to work with something that could be straight out of _Arabian Nights_.

          But if that was what it took to keep Blair safe, that's what he would do, and his humor died as he set the lamp down on the cloth laid out on the carpet in front of him.

          All right. So he wanted to imprison Kallini in the lamp. How did he do that?

          Nothing came to mind, and he grimaced. Maybe it would just be easier to kill Kallini. He could always make an image of him and just cut off his head. That would be nice and simple.

          But even as he considered the thought something warned him away from it, and he sighed, wishing that he could consult Blair on this. Unfortunately, until he was in full control of his own mind, he didn't dare risk the link, which might expose Blair to Kallini, and even though he was pretty sure that the thug would be no match for his partner on the mental plane, still, the Chief might hesitate to act because Jim and Kallini were linked, and the officer didn't dare risk that. That was why he hadn't employed any of his Sentinel senses even when he'd been pretty sure he was in control - no way was he going to give Kallini access to powers like that.

          Okay, back to the question; how could he imprison Kallini in the lamp?

          Imagery, it all came back to that. But imagery was nothing more or less than the use of imagination. So imagine.

          First, he needed a stand-in for Kallini. Reaching behind himself, he pulled out the lump of Play-Doh that sat there and, taking part of it, started rolling it into shape. Two legs, a trunk, two arms, a small round blob for a head, okay.

          So much for Kallini.

          Now he had the lamp and he had Kallini. All he had to do now was to put the figure into the lamp and close it and the deed was done.

          He picked up Kallini and reached for the lamp with the other hand, then stopped.

 _Words matter, Jim. Words are power_.

          That was true. Every time he'd watched Blair do this, he had described what he was doing first, naming things, commanding results, demanding that reality be what he wanted it to be.

          Words then. Jim took a breath, then let it out as his own dislike of the metaphysical manifested. Damn it, doing this was one thing, talking about it something else.

          But if he needed to talk about it and didn't, and Kallini got loose and hurt Blair because of it… That didn't bear thinking about. And after all, it wasn't like anyone was watching him. He was in his own place, safe and private, and no one was going to make fun of him here.

          He took a breath, gritted his teeth, and forced the words. "This is Kallini," he said, touching the doll. "This is the lamp that will imprison him." He laid a light finger on the artifact, then held up the clay figure. "I will place–" He faltered, trying to remember how Blair had worded this kind of thing. Clearing his throat, he started again. "As I place this figure in the lamp and smash it…" He did so, suiting action to the words and feeling the clay ooze between his fingers as he shoved it down. "And place the top on it." As he did, the soft clink very final in the loft. "So will Kallini be imprisoned within this lamp and I will be free."

          And suddenly he was lying in bed, staring up at a ceiling he'd only seen through Kallini's eyes until now. He sat up, noticing as never before the movement of muscles under his skin, the shifting of bones as he swung his feet off the bed and stood. He glanced around the room, then tentatively reached for Sentinel sight. The room was suddenly clear to view as his eyes adjusted to use all the light available, and he loosed a deep breath.

          His body. His. Not Kallini's.

          He was free.

          Joy welled through him, and he throttled the urge to shout and scream and yell, just to hear his own voice. Tears spilled over his cheeks, and he inhaled and held it. "Free," he whispered, reveling in the sound as it echoed in the room. "Free at last."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair opened his eyes, blinking in the lamplight that shone on him, warm and welcoming. He lay on his side on the couch where he'd fallen, his feet still on the floor, his hips and back twisted to support the position. Grimacing at his stiffness, he straight-armed himself upward to a sitting position, wincing as muscles and bones realigned themselves. The papers he'd been grading were scattered over the cushions and floor, and he absently removed those still on the couch and laid them on the low table in front of him.

          Lifting his feet, he stretched out along the couch, sighing as the soreness ebbed somewhat, and bent his thoughts to considering what he'd seen when Jim's vision had pulled him in.

          Jim was free.

          Blair closed his eyes, relief pouring through him like cool water. At last. Thank God, at last.

          It felt like a huge burden had rolled off his shoulders, and he smiled, basking in the knowledge that his friend was now alive _and_ at home. Automatically he reached for the link, smiling as the sense of Jim echoed through him, sharp and present. But

both of them had to be in an altered state for communication to work between them, and right now he had the feeling that Jim was completely focused on the present, unaware of the soft tap of awareness that was Blair's bid for attention. He smiled and relaxed. All that mattered was that Jim was back in control of his own mind and body, and Kallini was gone. They would talk later.

          But that ritual…

His lips tightened, and he dug his fingers into his hair, smoothing it back from his face and thinking.

          When Jim had seated himself in his safe space and set about creating that ceremony, the decision that Blair's presence was essential to his success had resulted in a summons the shaman couldn't resist, and he'd suddenly found himself standing outside Jim's image of the loft, watching as his friend worked his way through the rite that had set him free.

          But Jim was an extremely straightforward man, and a very literal one. He didn't think in terms of imagery and visualization, and his exposure to the use of those things was almost completely limited to what he'd seen Blair do when they'd worked together.

          As a result, the ritual he'd created was flawed in some very fundamental ways, although Blair was fairly certain that the prison Jim had placed Kallini in would hold at least until he got home. It could have been much worse; the shaman was grateful that at least he'd managed to prevent his friend from "killing" the thug outright, which might have been a disaster in the long run.

          It was strange, the young man mused, but in all his time doing visualizations and imagery, he'd always been the one in control, at least of his own use of it. He'd dealt with others' attacks and invasions, but he'd never had anyone who could so effortlessly pull him into their space. When Jim had started that ritual, Blair hadn't had a chance to resist, and that enforced obedience was just a little disturbing.

          But what bothered him most had been his inability to step in and aid his friend. He understood the wall around Jim's vision of the loft – it was his safe place, and even Blair couldn't touch that, which was as it should be. But the grad student's role in their partnership was based on Jim listening to him, and to be stymied in fulfilling that responsibility was extremely frustrating, to say the least. When Jim returned they were going to have to have some in-depth discussions concerning visualizations and their use.

          But for now he could go to bed, secure in the knowledge that across the miles his partner was probably doing the same. He straightened and gathered up the rest of his papers, dumping them on the table in a rough pile and smiling as he rose to his feet. _We'll be together again soon._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It was a good many minutes after he woke up as himself before Jim was finally sober enough to think about his situation, and he sat on the edge of the bed, unable to resist bouncing slightly just to feel the mattress give.

          He still had a monumental problem, though. For all intents and purposes he was Kallini to everyone here, and the soonest he could leave was tomorrow morning. He could then drive to Cascade, but going home wasn't something he could do just yet. A pang went through him at the thought, and he swallowed hard. He wanted nothing more than to drive home, join Blair for breakfast, and go in to work as if it were an ordinary day, but that was simply not going to happen. There was just no way he could go home yet. Not until he was legally free and clear to do so, and to get to that point was going to take a lot of work.

          First off, he had to turn himself in. A chill crept down his spine, and he hunched his shoulders against it. Simon wasn't going to be happy to see him.

          Simon. _Ohmygod. I shot him._

          He clenched his teeth, worry spiking through him. Could he have killed his friend? The memory of that moment was clear; two shots, Simon going down, Joel shooting at Jim and lunging forward to land beside Banks. But there'd been no blood. Had Simon worn a vest?

 _God, I hope so_. If he'd gone up against Kallini, he would've; surely Simon would've felt the same. The worry climbed higher, and he bit his lip, then forcibly turned away from it. He wouldn't know until tomorrow when he walked into the station, so there was no use worrying about it now.

          And then there was Lindir's operation to consider – without Kallini August would pull the whole set of deliveries that were scheduled, sacrifice the smaller dealers to the police without hesitation, and move quickly to re-establish himself somewhere else in the state, holding his higher level alliances close to his chest and expanding them when he was resettled.

          Jim couldn't let him do that. But to prevent him meant that he'd have to go into Cascade tomorrow, turn himself over to the police, and ask for their trust to go out and bring Lindir in.

          Somehow, even if Simon had worn a vest the evening before, Jim had a feeling that his trust in the Sentinel was sure to be at an all time low, and that didn't bode well for the captain's agreement to such a request. But if Ellison was to win back that trust, not to mention his own position in the department, he had to go back and propose the plan.

          And if Simon didn't accept it?

          Jim mulled that one, thinking for long moments. No one else could do what he could, no one else was trusted as he was, no one else knew Lindir as he did. He could tell the police about the major weapons delivery that was going down in two days, but if they were to catch more than just underlings at it, he had to be free to convince August to attend. And Simon was not, in all likelihood, going to allow that.

          And if he didn't… Then Jim would have to break out and run, set Lindir up for the meet, and be there to help the police take everyone down.

          Jim sighed, lowering his head into his hands and rubbing his eyes. Damn. It was a vicious circle, and no matter which way he turned, he'd lose. But if he let Simon lock him up and Lindir got away, he knew he'd never be able to forget it, or forgive either himself or Simon. And as both a cop and a Sentinel, his duty required him to risk himself to achieve August's capture.

          So be it. If ending up in jail was the price he paid for doing his job, that was just the way it was, and he and Blair would just have to deal.

          And with that thought, he lay back in bed and determinedly closed his eyes, asleep within minutes.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Well, Simon, what's it going to be? A cell, or August Lindir?" Jim watched his years-old friend carefully, gauging the captain's tension by his quickened heartbeat and the faint scent of sweat that drifted to him.

          Banks stood staring at him, his face hard and unreadable. No one moved, and so quiet was the Bull Pen that Jim had a feeling that half the officers gathered around were holding their breaths. Joel stood beside him, a welcoming hand firm on his shoulder, his gaze fixed on the other captain.

          "Simon," Jim started when the silence had gone on too long, "I know it's a lot to ask, but if you don't let me do this, August is just going to go to ground, and we'll never be this close to him again. We can shut down his operation here, even nail the bastard himself. His little kingdom will fall apart if we pull this off right, but you have to trust me that far."

          It was the wrong thing to say, and Jim knew it immediately, even before Joel's fingers tightened warningly on his shoulder. Simon flushed, the angry heat registering quickly with the Sentinel.

          "Trust you?" he snapped. "I did that, Jim! With my life, with Joel's, not to mention Sandburg's! Do you know how long you've been out there? Three months, Ellison! Three months! In that amount of time, you've assaulted Sandburg I don't know how many times, including shooting him once, I might add, attacked Joel, and shot me! You've nearly killed the kid, and I'm responsible for him, damn it! He's not a cop, and he's been risking his life going after you, while you've ignored us, hid from us, and in general played Lindir's little second in command a little too enthusiastically for me to believe you now. Take him to a cell!" he snapped at the surrounding officers, who all hesitated, eyeing him dubiously.

          "I said, take him to a cell!"

          It took a few minutes for the command to bear fruit, and in that short span of time Jim looked back to Joel, seeing the awareness in the older man's eyes as he released the Sentinel's shoulder.

          "Go, Jim."

          The whisper was faint but clear, and Jim abruptly twisted free of the reluctant hands on him, then threw himself through the desks to the doorway, dodging around the corner and into the stairwell.

          Racing down the steps with all the speed he could manage and listening for pursuit, he could nonetheless hear the argument between Simon and Joel.

          "Damn it, Joel, why'd you let him go?!"

          "Because he's Jim, and you would know that if you stopped shouting and started listening to your gut."

          The door to Banks' office slammed, and even in the stairwell Jim winced. He wouldn't want to be in the Bull Pen right now.

          He paused before the exit, focusing his hearing outside, but no one was waiting for him, and he slid through the door, trying to look casual as he paused to glance up and down the street.

          Taking a step, he hesitated as a young man raced across the nearby intersection, jerking into a sharp turn and sliding to a halt before the doors of the police department. The early morning sunlight glinted off the wild hair as the ponytail holder restricting it bounced off, but Blair never noticed as he dived through the doors, and Jim could hear him panting as he hammered at the elevator button.

          Walking as if in a dream, Jim paced down the sidewalk, stooping to grab the ponytail holder as the elevator doors opened and he heard the grad student's quick steps inside. Straightening as the doors closed, the Sentinel stood for a long moment, his thumb rubbing across the small elastic circle. He hesitated, then brought it to his nose, closing his eyes as Blair's scent blazed through his senses.

          After a moment, he tucked it into his pocket and headed to his car, trying not to look conspicuous and reminding himself as he reached the vehicle and took out his keys that he couldn't just automatically follow his old route home.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "What do you mean, he's not my responsibility any more! It doesn't work like that, Simon, and you know it!"

          "It does as of now, Sandburg, and don't you forget it!"

          Blair stared at the man, wondering what had happened between him and Jim to so totally infuriate him. The room outside Simon's open door was utterly quiet, and although he knew from Kane's quick briefing when he'd walked in what had occurred bare minutes before, the anthropologist still wasn't at all sure what about it had set Simon off to such an extent.

          "Man, what's wrong with you?" he asked, shaking his head. "I mean, hey, we've talked about Jim walking back in here, and now he's done it! That's great, so why're you so pissed?"

          "Sandburg, I am not 'pissed,' and as for Jim, he's now a rogue cop, nothing more, nothing less." Banks coolly regarded him from behind his desk, his expression unreadable.

          Blair looked at him. "Simon, it's Jim we're talking about here, not Kallini. You should've trusted him; he is the only one who can bring in Lindir, and that should count for something, even to you!"

          "It's not your concern now." The captain turned away, reaching to open a drawer of a file cabinet and rummaging through it.

          "Yes, it is!" Blair snapped, holding his own temper in check with an effort at the snub. "Damn it, man, what Jim and I have doesn't have anything to do with his being a cop, and you know it! Have you forgotten everything he's done for us?"

          Simon turned back, resting a file folder on the desk and opening it before he looked up. "That's not enough, Sandburg! I think you've lost your perspective here; have _you_ forgotten what Jim's done to you in the past three months? He's assaulted you, thrown you around, knocked you out, ignored you. For crying out loud, he shot you! Do these things mean anything to you?! Or are you really that blind?" He was glaring at Blair now, his lips tight.

          The grad student took a deep breath, then another before he could trust himself to speak. "I'm not losing my perspective, Simon, but I can't help wondering if you are! Yeah, _Kallini_ did all that, but we're not talking about him, are we? We're talking about Jim! And for all that Kallini did to me, Jim did just as much to protect me. Hell, man, you said yourself Kallini was an assassin/thug/bodyguard, as expert as Jim in a lot of ways. And all he's done has been to shoot me _once?_ I've dogged him from one end of that city to the other, harassed him, yelled at him, and all he did was hit me. He's never tried to kill me past that one time, and he even saved my life from a holdup!"

          Simon's gaze was flint-hard. "And what about last night, Sandburg? We gave him every chance to come with us then, and all he did was threaten Joel, shoot me, and toss you across the floor! And then when he does come in, he has the gall to ask me to trust him! Not on your life, Sandburg! He's crossed the line one too many times!"

          "But last night things changed! We–"

          "Oh, God, kid, don't give me any psychic mumbo jumbo crap!" Simon groaned. "You're using this stuff to back up your own ideas about Jim, nothing more! Nothing happened last night except what we should've expected, and if you think it did you're in worse shape than I thought!"

          Blair opened his mouth, then closed it, shutting down the white-hot fury that ran through him. Nothing he could say right now was going to get through to the man. And if he said anything more at all, then it would lead to a scene where neither one of them would be able to back off or apologize, and he didn't want that. In spite of it all, Simon Banks was a friend, and a decent one, and that very friendship was probably what was driving this conversation. Something that Jim had said or done or asked had crossed one of the major fault lines of the captain's soul, and until he'd dealt with that there would be no reasoning with him.

          Not trusting himself to say a word, Blair turned and left the office, walking out into a Bull Pen so silent that he was sure he could literally have heard a pen drop. He could feel every officer's gaze on him, but no one dared say a word, although he saw sympathy on many faces.

          Joel rose from his seat, jerking his head at Blair to join him in his office. Closing the door behind them, he sighed and sank into one of the two plush armchairs that faced his desk, gesturing to the anthropologist to do the same.

          Blair sank into the cushions, trying to relax and let the anger go. It took a few moments, and Joel courteously waited until the grad student shifted to look at him before asking, "You okay?"

          The younger man took another deep breath, then nodded. "What's wrong with him, Joel? I've never seen him this... unreasonable! We've had our disagreements, but never an argument like that."

          Joel nodded, then leaned back and looked at him thoughtfully. "And you probably won't again, with luck. You know, Blair," he added at the shaman's wary glance, "Simon respects you. Likes you, too."

          "I know," Blair said resignedly. "You'd sure never know it today, though."

          Joel smiled thinly. "But he thinks of you as someone he's responsible for, which he is. If something happened to you, he'd have to answer to the Chief of Police for it, but more than that, he'd have to live with it." He took a breath, frowning. "Now here we have a situation where the officer who's supposed to be your partner has effectively gone rogue."

          "But–"

          Joel held up a hand, and Blair closed his mouth. "When Simon saw him over in that café, Sandburg, he had every right to blow the whistle on him, and he didn't. And he's worked hard to get him back, putting his own career on the line in a lot of ways at the same time. After all, if the Commissioner knew what was going on, Simon might well lose his badge."

          Blair frowned. "I hadn't thought of that. But then why–"

          "So he's worked hard to get his friend back, for all our sakes, but in some ways mostly for you."

          The grad student looked at him. "Me?"

          Joel smiled at him. "He's worried a lot about you throughout this situation, Blair. And he's watched you dive into getting Jim back with everything you have, and trusted your perceptions of your partner past the point where he's comfortable, because what you and Jim have is special. And he's seen it work too many times to doubt it, up to now."

          "But what happened to change that?" Blair asked, shaking his head. "I don't get it."

          "Because last night he didn't see what you saw. He saw a man he's trusted for years threaten me, shoot him, and assault you, and he's not too sure that you're living in the real world right now, because what you say doesn't match what he knows happened."

          Blair looked at him, his bewilderment plain, and Joel sighed. "Sandburg," he said, "the last thing he saw was Jim shoot him, and that knocked the breath out of him, fractured one rib and bruised others. He was in no condition to notice what went down between you and Jim right then, and he might not even know that you confronted him. All he knew for sure when he opened his eyes was that Jim had hit you again."

          The anthropologist frowned, and Joel's lips quirked as he leaned forward and ran a light finger down the dark bruise splashed across Blair's cheek. The younger man flushed. "Oh, that."

          "Yes, that," Joel said dryly as he made himself comfortable again. "It stands out like a beacon, especially this morning. But you could see it last night, too."

          Blair sighed. "Okay, I guess I understand that. He probably thinks I'm deluded, seeing things that aren't there, and just not seeing Jim for what he is. Given that, I guess it makes sense that he's so mad."

          "Exactly," Joel agreed. "He's not so much mad at you as afraid for you, and he figures that if he takes the hard line here and forces you to back off, maybe you'll realize that what you think you saw isn't really there."

          Blair chewed the inside of his cheek, then looked up at the captain. "But if he was right, then he'd also have to know how that would hurt me."

          "Yep," Joel nodded. "And he's supposed to protect you, so–"

          "He feels guilty, and like he failed me, and maybe that he shouldn't have told me about Jim in the first place." Blair grimaced. "He's cornered himself."

          "Uh-huh," Joel replied. "And Simon, more than almost anyone I've known, hates to be cornered."

          "Great," Blair said glumly. "And Jim's breaking out of police custody this morning isn't going to help. I guess that the only thing that might is if Jim does bring Lindir to the meet tomorrow and helps nail the man. That might help Simon trust him. If we're lucky."

          "If we're lucky," Joel repeated, nodding. "Blair," he said as the younger man rose, "don't be obvious at the meet; Simon doesn't want you there, and won't have any problem with throwing _you_ into police custody to keep you safe."

          The shaman grimaced. "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind." Pausing with his hand on the doorknob, he looked back at his friend. "Joel?"

          "Umm?" The big man was moving to seat himself at his desk and looked up inquiringly.

          "Why do you trust me? I mean, you can't have seen that much last night either. It was darker in the corner where Jim and I were, and he was only able to hold off Kallini for a few moments. And what happened later, in the link, was between us. So why don't you think I'm delusional?"

          Joel looked at him and smiled. "Because you aren't, Sandburg. And because you were right in there with Simon; Kallini could've killed you six times over for all the trouble you've caused him, and he's ruthless enough to do it. The fact that you're still alive proves your case." He paused, then added, "And besides, Blair, I've seen the way Jim looks at you; he'd kill himself before hurting you."

          Blair smiled at him, his ears slightly pink, then turned and exited into the Bull Pen, walking quickly past Simon's closed door and into the hallway.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim gratefully closed his bedroom door behind him, making sure he set the lock, and ignored the late night darkness as he wearily pulled off his shirt and pants, too tired to do more than lay them neatly over a chair. Dropping onto his bed, he stretched out on it, closing his eyes against the day's memories as he let the stress drain off.

          Using the thumbs of both hands, he rubbed over his eyebrows, trying to relax the muscles tensed to headache-level. Somewhere within two miles someone had been cutting trees today, and the whine of the saw had penetrated through every wall, permeating his senses, always present, always distracting. It had made an already difficult task even more so, as he concentrated on presenting to the world a facade that those who knew and trusted Kallini would accept.

          The headache started to fade and Jim yawned, feeling muscles slacken as tension eased. He shifted a little on the bed and stretched his arms above his head, wishing that his stomach would settle too – maybe a good night's sleep would do it.

          Of course, that was assuming he got any sleep. After all, he had a lot to think about, things he hadn't allowed himself to consider during the day lest it throw off his acting.

          First, of course, was Blair. Seeing his partner that morning had been like a very heady tonic, and he hadn't started winding down until he'd pulled off the freeway at the Lacovue exit. Knowing that he was approaching Lindir had doused it like a cold rain, and now, thinking back on that moment, he let himself consider what Simon had said he'd done to Blair.

          His stomach roiled, and he swallowed against the sick nausea that surged through him. The worst of it was that he remembered doing those things to Sandburg. Or rather, he remembered watching as Kallini did them.

          But whether he called it Kallini or himself, the fact was that it was his body that had committed such assaults against his partner, even if he'd tried to mitigate their effects. That made it his responsibility, particularly because Kallini was his creation.

          He grimaced. _Now I know how Frankenstein must've felt about his monster_.

          And would anyone with any sense have ever trusted Frankenstein again? He wouldn't, so how could he expect Blair to? Even though the kid had, not just once, but again and again and again, even after Jim had shot him, tried to kill him, assaulted him.

          He laid an arm across his eyes, wondering if he shouldn't order the younger man to do walk away when this was over.

          A stifled snort rumbled through him; when did the kid ever follow his orders?

          He turned his thoughts to Simon, wincing as he remembered the fury he'd inspired. It wasn't that he didn't understand it – how could he not? Banks felt betrayed, especially for Sandburg, and that was a reaction that Jim couldn't argue against, even though he knew that the words Simon had thrown at him earlier would come back to haunt the captain later. If all of this worked out, anyway. And if Simon was willing to overlook his own breaking out of police custody.

          Jim sighed, then smiled faintly as he remembered Joel's welcoming half-hug when the Sentinel had entered the squad room, and his supportive whisper as he broke out. Practical, dependable, always a good friend, that was Taggert. For whatever reason, the man had always been difficult to deceive, even before Blair. Joel had always been there then, too, even when Ellison had made it crystal clear that he wanted nothing more than to be left alone. And everyone else had listened to that demand – everyone except the burly Bomb Squad captain. And thank God for him, too.

 _At least the Chief has him to help balance Simon right now_. He was glad of that; he had a feeling that his own argument with Banks was mild next to the one that must have ensued when his partner had walked in on that morning's situation.

          Well, it would all be over tomorrow, one way or the other.

          And with that, he rolled over and, using skills he'd honed in his years in the military, sent himself to sleep.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Struggling figures filled the enclosed yard, police and suspects dueling it out with grim commitment. Shouts, grunts, and swearing echoed against the walls of the three-story house that bounded one side of the conflict, with the occasional gunshot punctuating it. Light dust swirled around the compound, sometimes obscuring the combatants and making the struggle that much more uncertain. Sometimes it seemed that one side was winning, sometimes the other, but on the whole, Blair thought that the battle was rather even.

          Blair peered down at the yard from his spot on the overlooking balcony, wishing that he hadn't had to station himself there, but it had been the only way to avoid Simon, who'd almost caught him lurking below until he'd ducked up the stairs leading here. Now the man was probably too involved in the fight to care, but the grad student had no desire to mix it up with the criminals unless he had to. He wasn't here to see the bad guys caught; he was here for Jim, although he'd only caught a glimpse of the Sentinel so far, and that had been at the beginning of the attack, when he'd suddenly appeared to take on one of the three men attacking Joel. The anthropologist hadn't seen him since.

          But then, half the fight was out of sight of his post, so the man could still be down there somewhere. Blair was willing to wait until he sighted his partner before venturing down the stairs into the melee.

          The noise below seemed to intensify, and the police observer leaned out a little farther, craning to see the whole yard. It looked like a few more men had arrived for the wrong side, and he caught a glimpse of Simon speaking quickly into his radio. Probably calling for backup.

          Blair didn't know what warned him, but only his quick sidestep saved him from being tossed over the rail. Harsh hands grasped him, jerking him around, and he blinked as he found himself facing August Lindir.

          "All your fault!" the man hissed, leaning closer to the anthropologist and raising a fist.

          Blair raised an arm to block the blow, but the man was twice his size and obviously worked out on a regular basis, and it was like trying to stop a train. The world rocked around him, and his arm, from elbow to wrist, throbbed viciously.

          "What do you mean, my fault?" he gasped as he ducked another blow, searching desperately for anything he could use as a weapon. But the chairs and tables set on the balcony were more than ten feet away and secured as well, and the floor was swept clean. There was nothing available, and Blair gave up looking and went on the offensive, thrusting his knee into the man's groin with all his strength.

          Lindir stiffened, his eyes glazing, and Blair ducked under his arm and ran for the door. Two steps from the portal August grabbed his shoulder and yanked him backward.

          Blair's head met the low wall that ran around the balcony, and the blow dazed him so he sat stunned for a few seconds, unable to move.

          Lindir hauled him to his feet and hit him in the stomach.

          Blair doubled over with a gasp, the world fuzzing around him as his breath shortened.

          "Blair!"

          He heard Simon's yell from below and saw the drug dealer's eyes flick toward the sound. Acting on the instant, he grabbed for the groin again, his fingers closing on the balls and twisting.

          "Aieeeeghhhh!"

          Blair had never heard that particular sound from a man's throat before, and August's grip loosened as the man sagged to the ground, his face contorted in pain. Twisting free, the younger man released the genitals and danced sideways, looking about for an escape route. But pinned as he was in the corner between the house wall and the rail, there was no way to get past Lindir without stepping over him, and almost immediately the grad student felt hands close on his ankle, jerking him to his knees again.

          He could feel the fury in the man's grip, and Blair found himself forced back across the rail, the metal bars digging into his back. The concrete-floored compound below danced dizzily in the corner of his eye, and there was a sudden surge of vertigo and he was falling.

          "No!"

          Blair barely registered the desperate cry from behind him as he grabbed wildly, seeking something, anything, to hold. One hand caught a rail as he tumbled, and blinding pain tore through his shoulder as it caught his weight. He swung for a moment, too caught up in the grinding agony radiating down his arm to notice anything else, then blinked back the tears and managed to reach up with his other hand to grasp the bar. A piercing throb shot through him at the stretch, and he couldn't bite back the whimper. But the fierce ache eased quickly as his other shoulder took up some of the strain, and he took a shallow breath, finally finding the time to wonder just why Lindir hadn't pried his fingers loose and tossed him into space a long time ago. Looking up, he found out why.

          Jim and August were fighting.

          It was a vicious struggle, no holds barred, but he barely had time to register that fact before the officer swung on August, catching him on the chin with a blow that made Blair blink.

          Lindir wavered, staggering back until he stood above where Blair hung. "Why?" the drug dealer gasped, staring at Ellison. "I trusted you, Kallini; why turn on me? What kind of deal could they offer you that was better than mine?"

          "Simple," Jim said evenly as he cocked his fist. Even from his angle, Blair could see the blood staining his knuckles. "I'm not James Kallini; I'm James Ellison of the Cascade PD, and you're under arrest." He stepped forward and swung, the move reminding the Guide of a prizefighter going in for the kill. Lindir fell.

          Blair felt like cheering, and he smiled as the Sentinel hastily bent over the rail, his large hands curling around the grad student's wrists. "Let go, Chief, I've got you!"

          Relief flooded through him, and Blair gave up his white-knuckled grasp on the bar with no hesitation. But he couldn't stop his grimace as pain forked down his arm and side at the renewed pressure, and he gritted his teeth as Jim hauled him up.

          His feet caught the top of the low wall in which the balcony rails were set, and then he was safe on the other side, the crushing pain forgotten as he threw himself at Jim, who caught him automatically, returning the wild hug with his own fierce relief.

          "Oh, man," Blair breathed, holding him tightly. "I knew you'd come back! Boy, it's good to see you!"

          "Me, too," Jim said hoarsely, then held him off and looked at him. "You're hurt."

          Blair blinked up at him, then abruptly remembered, the pain suddenly registering again as he came down off the adrenaline-driven high. "Oh. That." He glanced down at his limp left arm, wincing at the sharp spasm that echoed down it.

          "Yeah, that," Jim replied dryly, turning him around to face the door leading into the house and nudging him toward it. "We'd better get you looked at."

          Blair looked up at him, hardly noticing Rafe and Brown as they paused in the doorway, smiling and stepping around the two as they headed toward Lindir. "I'm fine."

          "Yeah, you will be," Jim agreed, unable to resist hooking a careful arm around his partner's back as they reached the stairs. "As soon as you're looked at."

          Blair navigated the steps with more care than he would usually use. But although he wouldn't have mentioned it for the world, the adrenaline spike was fading fast, and he hurt – his stomach, his back, both arms, his shoulder – everywhere. But Jim's arm light across his shoulders felt better than anything he could remember in a long, long time, and he didn't bother answering, simply basking in the sensation.

          It wasn't until they'd stepped outside the house and he saw Simon that he remembered the hurdles still ahead, and he stiffened as the African-American approached, Joel behind him.

          The two parties halted to stare at each other, and before any of the officers could speak, Blair shrugged free of Jim's arm, ignoring the blaze of agony that ricocheted down his side at the movement, and stepped in front of Jim, his bearing defiant as he faced Simon.

          Jim looked down at his partner, his expression softening, then gently took Blair's shoulders and put him to one side, silently holding out his wrists to Simon.

          Simon looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged and turned away. "What're you doing?" he asked gruffly, not looking at them. "You were undercover and did your job. Now go on, go home."

          Neither Jim nor Blair moved, and Simon glanced back at them. "What're you standing there for? You have the rest of the day off, Jim, but I expect to see you bright and early tomorrow morning!"

          Blair saw the muscle move in Jim's jaw, saw him swallow hard as he nodded. "Yes, sir," he said, the words low, then followed his partner's tug as the anthropologist led him toward the parking lot, both of them only marginally aware of the smiles and greetings from the officers they passed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim stopped and stared at the pickup parked haphazardly across three lot spaces, a testimony to his partner's earlier state of mind, then looked at Blair. "You drove my truck?"

          The anthropologist shrugged. "Hey, man, I couldn't let it rust in the driveway. Besides, it could handle the drive down here better than my car could." He fished through his pockets, the movements careful and slow, then handed the keys to his partner, who took them numbly.

          Blair walked over to the passenger side, the move feeling both blessedly familiar and very strange at the same time, then looked back. Jim stood where he'd left him, his gaze still fixed on the vehicle.

          The grad student smiled a little, his throat tight, then walked back to his friend, reaching to touch his shoulder.

          Jim jumped.

          "Hey," Blair said gently, meeting the startled eyes, "it's over, Jim. You're home now."

          The Sentinel blinked, then nodded, turning quickly to stride over and unlock the door. Blair saw him rub his eyes as he slid into the vehicle and he smiled to himself as he stepped over to the passenger side. The lock clicked, and he tugged the door open and slid inside, not looking at his partner as he pulled his safety belt over his shoulders and snapped it into place. Even through the pain that sparked across the muscles at the action he couldn't help but revel in the wave of security that settled over him as the lock clicked home.

          "Okay, then," Jim said, his voice a little rough. "Let's go home."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Home. Jim had known he missed it, but he hadn't realized the depth of that feeling until he stood in the doorway of the loft, hearing the jingle of Blair's keys as the grad student dropped them into their accustomed place in the small ornamental bowl on the nearby table. The sound shook him with its familiarity, and he shuddered, suddenly hyperaware of the moment and its meaning.

          He took a step inside, automatically closing the door behind him, and halted. Scents poured through him, almost all of them faint but mixing together into a mélange that was almost overwhelming. Incense – sandal-wood, pine, rain, cedar, blended together with a touch of spice from the potted herbs in the kitchen window. He could smell the oranges sitting on the counter and knew from the sharp tingle in his nostrils that Blair had used the citrus-scented organic cleaner yesterday evening.

          The sound of the air filter set in the corner quickly dimmed into the background as old habits reasserted themselves, and Blair's heartbeat registered as a comforting counterpoint to the soft music his partner flipped on.

          The younger man walked quietly to the couch and sat down, his gaze steady on the Sentinel. Jim heard the hitch of breath as the movement jarred the now sling-bound arm immobilized against the anthropologist's chest, and the officer glanced at him sharply. The list of injuries Blair had sustained in his fall was impressive, and Jim ran down the list in his mind: hyperextended left shoulder, which was the arm he'd used to catch himself; muscle pulls in his right shoulder, which had had to sustain most of his weight as his left shoulder recovered, even though the grad student probably hadn't realized it at the time; whiplash effect on his neck, throwing it out; whiplash effect again on his back and ribs, twisting the muscles into one giant ache; and bruised stomach muscles from Lindir's blow.

          All in all, the kid was a wreck, and although all the effects hadn't started to kick in yet, the ER doctor who had looked him over had dryly commented that they should soon. He'd written several prescriptions – painkillers (codeine), muscle relaxants, an anti-inflammatory, all of which they'd picked up, even though Blair had told the officer in no uncertain terms that he wasn't going to put that synthetic crap in his body. Jim had a feeling that that decision might change by bedtime, and if it didn't, he might just force them down his partner's throat anyway.

          Now, looking at the stubborn set of his friend's jaw and the warning spark in his eyes, Jim prudently decided to ignore the problem, at least for the moment, and turned his attention back to the loft, pacing through it with hesitant steps.

          The green lushness of the houseplants accented the open spaciousness of the rooms, and the art posted on the walls posed a tantalizing array of detail that he'd almost forgotten. He paused for a long moment to stare at the African masks hanging in their accustomed places, ran a hand along the rich texture of the South American throw that hung over the back of the couch, feeling Blair's body heat as he passed behind him, fingered one of the small statues tastefully set on the low table.

          The French doors beckoned, and he stood for a moment gazing through their panes at the roofed skyline, then opened them and stepped outside, reaching to touch the low wall that circled the patio, the stone cool under his fingers in the late afternoon shade that stretched across the expanse.

          Entering the loft again, he swung the doors shut and padded toward the stairs, his pace as he climbed deliberate and unhurried. Reaching the top, he stood for a moment, his gaze flicking over the furniture, then he turned and started down again, stepping over to Blair when he reached the bottom. "You haven't been up there."

          The anthropologist lifted one shoulder and let it drop, then winced. "Just a few times. It was yours, man; I didn't feel like I could touch it."

          Jim glanced around the loft, then back at him. "Looks like you didn't touch much at all."

          Blair carefully shrugged again, looking away.

          "Chief, as far as you knew, I was dead. Why didn't you change anything? You knew– Simon did tell you the loft was yours, right?"

          Jim saw the convulsive swallow as Blair's jaw tightened, heard his breath catch. "Yeah, I knew."

          The words were short, and the Sentinel frowned at him. "Then why–?"

          "Because I couldn't, okay?" Blair pushed to his feet, the move rushed, hurried as he turned away from his friend. Pain spiked through his shoulder, but he ignored it, caught in the moment. "I tried. I even moved out! But I couldn't– There was nothing there for me, all right?" He bit back the words, fighting the rush of anger that flushed through him. Damn it, what was he doing? Jim was alive, and home, and everything was fine, so why was he suddenly mad at him?

          He inhaled, the question suddenly real to him. Why _hadn't_ he changed anything? He'd shifted a few things around in the beginning, moved some of Jim's stuff upstairs, even taken down some of the art, and then had slowly replaced everything the way it had been.

          Why?

          He didn't know why. He took another breath, the anger fading as he faced the question. "I'm sorry, Jim," he said, turning back to face his friend, who stood watching him with a frown. "I don't know why I didn't change anything; I just didn't. Let it go, okay? I have to think about that for a while."

          Jim studied him for a moment and then smiled. "Sure, Chief." He glanced around him again, then back at his friend. "You hungry? We could have dinner at Vinn's Place."

          He tried to keep the hopeful tone out of his voice, but Blair heard it and smiled at him. "Sure, man. That sounds great."

          Jim's shoulders relaxed and he put a hand on his shaman's good shoulder, turning him toward the door. The world suddenly fell into place, and he closed his eyes as gratitude surged through him.

          He was home.

          Now if they could only work through the rest of the situation Kallini had created, he might actually have a job to go back to as well. But he shoved that thought to the back of his mind, determined that this evening would be perfect, no matter what the following days brought.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "You know, man, if you want to talk about it, I'm here."

          "What's to say, Sandburg? It's over, and Kallini's dead."

          Blair settled himself into the corner of the stuffed chair that sat next to the couch and watched his friend as Jim prowled the room. "Well, actually, Jim, it's not really that black and white. Most things aren't, you know, especially in our business."

          The Sentinel turned to stare at him, frowning. "What do you mean? He's dead, Chief, I killed him."

          Blair took a steady breath, then stepped into the breach. "To be exact, Jim, you imprisoned him. In the lamp. That's not quite the same thing as killing him, and a good thing, too."

          There was a moment of aching silence, and then Ellison seated himself on the couch, the movement controlled, precise. "And just how do you know about that?"

          Blair pulled in a breath, then blew it out, momentarily glad that they'd eaten dinner a good hour before. They'd both need the support that a good meal at Vinn's Place could offer before this conversation was over. "Because I saw it."

          He met the look that his friend turned on him without flinching. "No, I didn't go to spy on you, Jim. But when you decided that your safe place required me to be there for it to work, that was a summons I couldn't deny. I couldn't actually walk into the loft; it wasn't open to me. But I couldn't leave either, so I saw what you did. And, hey, man," he added, smiling at the memory and ignoring the increasingly appalled look he was receiving, "that was a pretty impressive ritual for someone who'd never done one before. And it worked, which was the important thing."

          Jim was flushed, and Blair eyed him warily, unsure whether the reaction signified embarrassment or anger. "Jim?"

          The Sentinel closed his eyes, then opened them to look at the younger man, his color fading somewhat. "You mean I called you?"

          "Sort of," Blair answered, shrugging a shoulder and then wincing. "But the loft was private. I could see you, but it was like a glass wall between us, and I couldn't talk to you or come in. Just as well."

          A muscle jerked in Jim's jaw, and after a moment he said softly, "So it wasn't as private as I thought."

          Blair studied him, not without sympathy. "No, probably not. That's one of those things we need to talk about, because what you did was a crucial exercise of a skill you don't want to lose, but at the same time you need to figure out how to do it without summoning me. Which actually should be pretty easy; it's just a slightly different focus–"

          "Sandburg."

          Blair blinked at him. "Yeah, Jim?"

          "It's over, Chief. I don't want to do that again, I'm never going to need it again, and Kallini is, well, maybe he's not exactly dead, but he'll do. He's not coming back. I'll just leave the rituals to you from now on, okay?"

          The shaman chewed the inside of his cheek, surveying his friend with a sober look that made a chill thread its way down Jim's spine. "Right, Chief?" he urged, fighting the sinking sensation in his stomach when his partner didn't immediately respond.

          "Uh, not… exactly, Jim."

          The Sentinel rolled his eyes at the answer, not realizing his hands were clenched into fists in his lap. "What do you mean, not exactly, Sandburg? Look, I'm not a shaman. I don't want to be a shaman. Rituals, the link, stuff like that, that's all your thing, not mine. All I am, all I want to be is a Sentinel, so why can't I just be that!"

          "Most of the time you can," Blair said, leaning forward with the words. "But you're also my partner in the metaphysical. And when you enact a ritual, Jim, you have to deal with the consequences, just like you do when you're using your senses. There's ways rituals work, and there's ways they don't, and when you created yours you set certain things in motion that have to be dealt with before you can finish Kallini once and for all."

          The officer stared down at his hands, then nodded without looking up. "All right," he said in a low voice. "That makes sense. I did what you would've done if we'd been together, and now we have to play it out, is that what you're saying?"

          "Yea-ah," Blair agreed, drawing the word out. "Sort of. But I couldn't have done what you did, Jim; that was all yours, had to be. Kallini was your creation, and only you could deal with him; nothing I did would've touched him."

          Jim grimaced. "But what I did I did wrong, it sounds like. So he's not gone?"

          Blair heard the fear under the reluctant question, and shook his head, reining back his own sympathy. Right now his friend didn't need sympathy, he needed answers. "No, Jim. You couldn't kill him; that would've been a kind of suicide, because you created him out of yourself. Not a good thing to do, at all."

          "But, Chief–" The Sentinel hesitated, caught in confusion. "Kallini isn't, wasn't, real. I made him up, so how could it be like suicide? I mean, I'm not _like_ that, damn it! If I were, I'd throw myself in jail!"

          "Hey, hey!" Blair held out his hands in a calming gesture, and Jim relaxed a little, though his jaw was still tight. "No, of course you're not a criminal like Kallini," the younger man continued. "But just because you created him doesn't mean he's not real."

          He saw the Sentinel's eyebrows knit and sighed. "Look, man, James Kallini was a mental construct, a persona you built out of various parts of yourself. He had many of your skills, some parts of your personality, and nothing at all of your soul."

          The last part of the sentence stopped the words in his partner's throat, and Blair smiled, although the expression quickly faded as he continued, the words catching him up in the moment. "You're a man committed to enforcing the law, Jim, and you can be ruthless with people who cross that line. That's a strong drive with you, and part of what gives you the strength and discipline to keep going when it seems like everything is against you. Kallini has that ruthlessness, but nothing of the drive, or the discipline, or the strength.

          "You're highly intelligent, but you gave Kallini only part of that, enough that he could come across as a smart second-in-command but not enough that he could have thought himself out of Lindir's organization or been a threat to Lindir's leadership.

          "You have an intense will to survive, honed by your years in the jungle, your military training and experience, and your time as a cop. Kallini got that by default, because you can't untangle that from everything else, and that was probably why it took so long to climb into the driver's seat and push him back under control.

          "And you have–"

          "Okay, okay!"

          Blair blinked out of lecture mode, finding Jim scarlet with embarrassment and shifting uncomfortably on the couch. "Okay, I get it, I get it," he growled, not meeting his partner's eyes.

          The anthropologist's lips quirked. "Good, good," he said, watching his friend's color fade.

          "So that's why I was warned off of 'killing' him in the ritual, right?" The Sentinel turned a serious gaze on the grad student, glad to focus on something else. "That was you. You told me not to, didn't you?"

          Blair shifted uneasily, his gaze avoiding Jim's. "Uh, sort of." _If you call shouting at the top of your lungs and hammering at that glass wall 'telling' you_. "Anyway, the important thing is that you didn't.

          "Yeah, I guess so," Jim muttered, his ears only faintly pink now. "So what do I have to do with him?"

          "Accept him," Blair answered simply. "As yourself," he added at the officer's blank look. "In other words, integrate him back into yourself so that he won't come creeping out at some point down the road."

          Jim went white. "He can get out?"

          "Well, not for a while," Blair said easily. "Don't worry about that. But eventually, yeah, you'd probably find him sneaking out. He has a whole lot fewer resources than you did – after all, you're a whole person, whereas he's just a construct, but sooner or later, actually later," he added hastily at the Sentinel's horrified gaze, "yeah, you'd have to deal with him again. Better to do it before that happens."

          "Yeah," the officer whispered. "Yeah, definitely." He swallowed. "When?"

          "Not until you're feeling safe at home again," Blair answered, smiling at his friend. "And that won't be for a little while. You have to feel settled and secure here first before we tackle Kallini again."

          "We?" Jim looked at him hopefully.

          "Well, sure, we," Blair replied matter-of-factly. "I'm your partner, right? I wouldn't ask you to do that alone. But that's for later," he added as his partner's muscles relaxed. "So don't worry about it. The top thing to do right now is to get some sleep. In your own bed," he qualified, watching his friend's look lighten at the thought. "Sound good?"

          Jim stood, reaching down to help his partner to his feet. "Very damn good, Chief."

          "I thought it might."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair woke with a jerk, inhaling with a hiss through gritted teeth as the abrupt move sent splinters of pain down his shoulder. Glancing over at the clock, he sighed. Three a.m.

_Does my subconscious have something about three a.m. wakings? Is there something here we need to talk about?_

          He shifted, grimacing at the intense ache that set his muscles throbbing. Any attempt to massage that shoulder with his other hand only made both shoulders hurt; he had, after all, pulled some muscles in the right one, too. And his back hurt, and his ribs, and his stomach. The painkillers were running out. Ordinarily he wouldn't have taken the damn pills anyway, but by the time he'd dressed for bed it was clear that he wasn't going to get any sleep if he didn't. And the muscle relaxants and anti-inflammatory would aid the healing as well; he might be reluctant to use drugs in his body, but he also knew the difference between avoidance and stupidity. Especially since he'd have to start physical therapy in about a week, and he wanted the healing to go as well as possible before he got there.

          None of which helped the pain right now. He shifted again, drawing a slow breath through aching ribs. Damn it, it was the middle of the freaking night and he was tired and just wanted to sleep. But if he took another set of pills he'd still be woozy in the morning, and he hated that feeling. And he had to teach his class, and how could he do that if he was out of it? Or was that the next day?

 _Damn it, stop whining and get a hold of yourself_. He shut his eyes and tried to relax, backing off the pain and weariness and attempting to put everything back into perspective. His thoughts steadied and calmed, and then the moment shattered as he remembered that he'd forgotten to put the pills on his bedstand when he'd crawled into bed. They were sitting on the bathroom cabinet where he'd left them, which meant that he had to get up to fetch them, and he knew without even trying how that would hurt.

          "Oh, damn it to hell," he whispered, all his weariness and pain sweeping back over him. Tears stung his eyes, and he lifted a sleeve to wipe them. He knew that even though they'd mostly worn off, the drugs were still affecting his emotions somewhat, but knowing that didn't change the fact.

          He gritted his teeth, forcing all the undisciplined feelings down and focusing on the task ahead. First, to sit up.

          "Here, Chief."

          Blair relaxed with a rush, gratitude and startlement rushing through him in equal amounts as the Sentinel set something on the bedstand, the soft click of plastic making it clear that it was the pill bottles. He'd forgotten all about Jim.

 _Too long alone_ , he thought briefly as he stared up at the dark figure of his friend now looming over him.

          "Hey, man," he said, surprised at how thin his voice sounded. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

          "Well, you should have." A large hand slipped behind his shoulder, and Blair ground his teeth as he sat up, pain running icily through every muscle.

          He heard shifting sounds, and then Jim leaned him back against the stacked pillows, which the younger man relaxed into with relief. Jim's fingers touched his, guiding them around a water bottle, and he felt two pills drop into his hand.

          "That's the painkillers, Chief. You want some light?"

          Blair exhaled, smiling and knowing that his friend could see it. He'd forgotten what it was like to trust someone, and the sweetness of the feeling warmed his chest. "No, not really." Light would destroy the moment, and he wanted to savor it. Besides, he knew Jim could see, so he didn't need to.

          Moments later he swallowed the last pill and gave up the bottle to the Sentinel's careful fingers, hearing it set in its accustomed place on his bedstand, the pill bottles shifted over to compensate. Then the warm hand was behind his shoulders again, bracing him as the pillows were lowered, and he was laid down. The bed dipped as Jim settled beside him, and he looked through the darkness at his partner, frowning. "What–?"

          Fingers touched his shoulders, moving into a careful kneading, and his breath caught. "Really, you don't need to–"

          "Sandburg, shut up."

          The dry affection behind the command silenced him, and he closed his mouth, swallowing as light pulses of pain crackled through his arm even as he felt the muscles start to relax.

          "Just go to sleep, Chief."

          Blair blinked at him, the night starting to glaze over, and the last thing he felt was the brush of Jim's fingers through his hair, and then the kneading started again.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Simon watched through his window as Jim entered the Bull Pen, immediately surrounded by officers who greeted him with backslaps and handshakes. For a moment the man was obscured by the crowd, and when it dispersed, the Sentinel looked a little strained. Banks grimaced. It had been a long time, and Ellison was probably out of practice in dealing with such a sensory load. Speaking of which, where was the kid?

          Standing, the captain moved to the doorway, noticing the lost, uncertain look that played across Jim's face as he glanced across the room toward his clean desk. Then the man heard him and turned, his features immediately shifting into a neutral expression. "Sir," he said, nodding.

          Simon sighed. Damn, but he wished he hadn't lost his temper with his friend. Or with Blair, either. He'd be making up lost ground for a while. "Where's Sandburg?"

          Jim shrugged. "Asleep when I left. The pills really knocked him out," he added at Bank's concerned look, "and he's hurting pretty bad."

          "Hmm," the captain replied, wishing that he'd pulled himself together enough the day before to check on the younger man's injuries. He couldn't quite bring himself to ask his officer about them; maybe Joel would know. "Good thing his eight o'clock class is tomorrow, then."

          Ellison blinked at him. "He has an eight o'clock? But– before I, uh, he'd been given a ten o'clock at the end of last semester."

          Simon saw the hesitant look flicker across his friend's face again and his heart lurched. "Well, yeah, but that was before you… died, and he took on another class later in the summer."

          "Oh," Jim said softly, a sense of time lost creeping through him. Now Simon knew more about his partner's schedule than he did. And last night, Blair hadn't remembered he was in the house; that'd been clear from his startled reaction when the Sentinel walked in on him.

          He swallowed, then looked at Simon. "So, what am I doing today?"

          Banks hesitated. "First, I wanted to invite you and Blair to dinner at my place tomorrow night. Joel, too." He almost held his breath as the man pondered the offer, then sighed in silent relief when the man nodded, remembering too late that the Sentinel could read his response clearly.

          "I'd like that," Jim said, the faintest twinkle to his eyes.

          "Good, that's good," Banks muttered, glancing away. "And as for the rest of it…" He hesitated, then forced himself on. "I had to sign you up for psych and medical evaluations. The medical doctor was appointed by the department, and the psych eval is by a panel of three psychologists. They're all over at the university hospital," he said, hurrying the words at Jim's dubious look at him, "and they wanted to see you at nine this morning. The medical eval is first and will probably take most of today, and the psych sessions will probably take a full day, maybe two."

          The officer was silent, then said tonelessly, "So today's the medical, tomorrow and Wednesday is the psych, and we'll find out their verdict on Thursday."

          "More like Friday," Simon warned. "They'll probably confer Thursday. On Friday there'll be a closed meeting with them. You and I'll be there, an IA rep, and someone from the Police Union. And you should probably have a lawyer with you, too."

          Jim stared over the captain's shoulder, then looked back at him, his gaze unreadable. "And you're there as my superior? Or as a friend?"

          Banks' breath caught. "Officially as your superior," he replied, the words even as he met his officer's eyes. "Unofficially, as your friend."

          Jim held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded, a small, sad smile touching his lips. "Good." Turning, he headed toward the exit. "The University hospital?" he tossed back.

          "Yeah," Simon said softly. "Fourth floor, Dr. Devlin." He watched his friend stride through the door, turning for the elevator with assured steps, and wondered how much of the assumed confidence was show.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair lifted the receiver and punched up the precinct, wishing that he'd been able to go in with Jim earlier. But when his partner had awakened him that morning he'd been very fuzzy, not really aware of more than the hot breakfast that his friend had helped him eat, and when the officer assisted him in lying down and encouraged him to sleep, he must've done just that, although he seemed to remember saying something about going into the station with Jim. Clearly it hadn't had much effect.

          In the space of a few minutes he found himself speaking to Simon, Jim not being available.

          "Sandburg. How's the shoulder? And the rest of it?"

          The young man blinked, the question making him aware of the dull ache that reverberated through the member in question. "Uh, better."

          "Good. I understand you'll be doing physical therapy for that in about a week; the department will be picking up the tab on that, as well as for your prescriptions, so make sure you give Jim the bill."

          Blair resisted the impulse to remove the phone from his ear and stare at it. Usually when he was injured on department business Simon fussed and fumed for days over picking up the check. "Excuse me?"

          "You heard me, Sandburg." The growl was restrained but audible, and the grad student grinned. Simon was feeling guilty; better to enjoy it while it lasted, which wouldn't be long.

          "Yes, sir," he said obediently, hearing the captain's teeth grit on his cigar. Better to change the subject. "Where's Jim?"

          There was a silence that made the younger man's eyes narrow. "Simon?"

          A heavy sigh echoed across the line. "He's at the University hospital, getting checked out."

          Blair thought about that, remembering some of Joel's comments to him a couple of weeks earlier. "You mean a psych and medical eval."

          "Yeah." A breath, then Simon growled, "Hell, Sandburg, it's my job; I had to put him down for those, for his own sake."

          Blair shifted his position on the couch, feeling abruptly very tired. He'd forgotten that some of the biggest hurdles, and the toughest, still lay ahead. "Yeah," he answered, the word low. "I know, Simon, you really didn't have much of a choice. I just hope that they leave Jim one."

          "That's supposed to be their job." The words were brusque, but the captain's tone was almost gentle.

          Blair sighed. "Yeah. Anything else I need to know?"

          "Well, you and Jim are invited to my house for supper tomorrow night. Joel will be there, too."

          A small smile lifted the grad student's lips at the hope he could hear behind the gruff words, but he was careful to keep his voice appropriately sober when he answered. "No, Simon, not me. But I think that you and Joel and Jim should do it; he has a lot of rebuilding to do and there's stuff you guys wouldn't talk about if I were there."

          He heard the captain take a deep breath. "You're always welcome, Blair. Are you sure?"

          "Yes, I'm sure," the anthropologist answered firmly. "Thanks, but really, man, I think it's for the best. Besides," he added, his own smile widening, "with these drugs, believe me, you're better off without me."

          "Yeah, I've been on those, too," Simon rumbled, relief just under the words at the change of subject. "Damned spacey feeling. Well, you just rest, all right? Jim'll probably try to call you sometime, but I don't know if they'll give him much of a chance."

          "Yeah," Blair agreed. "That's okay, he doesn't need the distraction right now. And yes, sir, I'll rest."

          "Good. See that you do. You've had a rough time of it these last few months; you've earned a break." There was a click, and then the dial tone buzzed in the grad student's ear.

          The young man thumbed the off button and set the cell down on the low table in front of him, still smiling. He'd come a long way since his first days with the department; Simon would never have said that to him in the beginning of their relationship. Probably not in the middle of it, either, come to that. Maybe not even last week, actually. But now…

          He leaned back, the movement careful as he sank into the pillows, then yawned. Even seven hours after taking the pills he could still feel some of the effects. But at least the pain in his shoulder was better, which meant that he could ignore it longer before taking another painkiller. Not like the night before, where just five hours after taking it he'd been awake.

          But he was still sleepy; maybe he'd just doze for a little…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim stood over his sleeping partner the next evening, smiling faintly at the obvious 'stay-up-till-Jim-comes-home' plan that had led Blair to position himself on the couch after the officer had left for dinner with his friends. The grad student lay snuggled into the cushions, a quilt drawn over him and a book cracked loosely over one finger. The detective removed it, slipped a bookmark inside the pages, and placed it on the table, his smile fading as he remembered what Simon and Joel had told him about Sandburg's reactions after he'd "died."

          He shifted slightly, looking down at his Guide in some wonder as the evening's conversations ran through his mind. No, he agreed with his colleagues; he wouldn't have expected the younger man to deal with the Sentinel's death as well as he had either. Ellison wasn't at all sure that he himself would have.

          And Blair had been so determined once he knew that Jim was still alive. So stubbornly set on getting him back. Almost obsessed, Simon had described it. No, Joel had said, it was loyalty, not obsession, that drove him.

          But now, gazing down at his Guide, alone at last, Jim let himself acknowledge what he'd known then but been unable to say to his fellow officers. Yes, obsession, loyalty, and other similar feelings had driven Blair to face Kallini again and again, but mostly, Jim knew, it was love that lay behind his friend's actions. The word forced him to cringe, but it was the only one he could find to describe the depth of commitment and trust that lay between them.

          That just didn't bear too much thinking about. And he sure as hell would never say anything about it to the police observer.

          Blair stirred, then relaxed as Jim's hand brushed across his forehead, the familiar touch soothing him back into slumber. The Sentinel fingered a few of the wild strands of hair, enjoying their silky feel, then drew back as the shaman's words about Kallini rose up.

          He hadn't thought about the man since Blair's warning – between his own problems and his partner's injuries he just hadn't had time, but the idea that Kallini might creep out again made the hairs on the back of his neck tingle, and once the notion had taken root there was no ignoring it.

          In the last week Jim had almost started taking control of his mind for granted again, enjoying the emptiness around his thoughts and the fact that they were his alone. He was free to think, or feel, whatever he wanted without fear it would be used against him, and a glad certainty of safety, of ownership, sometimes rushed through him whenever he used any of his Sentinel gifts or felt Blair stir in the deeps of his mind.

          The prospect of losing all of that, of facing the man, the… the _thing_ that had caged him before, was terrifying, and Jim had to beat back the fear with an almost physical effort. But more than that, there was Blair to think of.

          Looking down at the younger man, Jim took one step back, then another. If Kallini hated anyone, he knew, Blair would be at the top of his list, and if he could kill the anthropologist, he would. If there was even the slightest chance that he could creep out into his, Ellison's, mind again and endanger the shaman in the smallest way, then the Sentinel would have to be at his most vigilant to ward against it.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Sitting on the couch, Blair tried not to frown as he watched his friend fix supper. It was Thursday evening, the night before the board of medical experts met with Jim, and maybe that explained the man's nervousness.

          But the explanation didn't feel right, and the Guide watched as his Sentinel glanced over at him, then away, his movements jerky and a little uncoordinated as he poured noodles into the pot of boiling water. A few of the thin pasta poles bounced out onto the cabinet, and Blair's eyebrows peaked at the man's unusual clumsiness, his frown deepening as Jim scooped up the stiff pasta and dumped it back with the rest. "Hey," he protested, "I like to eat some of those before they're boiled; you know that."

          "Not this time, Sandburg," the officer muttered, not looking back at him as he stirred the sauce.

          Hmm. And Jim hadn't offered him a bite of either the sauce or the meat, which was almost a tradition with them by now. The younger man drummed his fingers lightly on his leg, thinking. Come to that, Jim hadn't touched him at all that he remembered in the last three days, ever since the evening he'd spent with Joel and Simon. Maybe they'd said something to make the Sentinel back off? No, he decided as he watched the nervous look the detective sent him, no, that wasn't it, either. Whatever this was, it was squarely between the two of them.

          A thought grew as Jim placed the plates on the dining table and ladled food onto them, and he leaned back on his pillows, letting the pain and weariness that still occasionally buzzed through him show as his companion glanced over at him.

          Concern darkened his partner's eyes, and he automatically took a step toward the anthropologist, then stopped himself.

_Yes!_

          Blair met the man's eyes, a smile suddenly quirking his mouth. "Jim, you're not going to hurt me, so stop worrying about it."

          Jim's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Are you reading my mind?"

          Blair snickered, then grimaced and wrapped an arm around his ribs. "Oh, man, don't make me laugh, it hurts. Jim, I know how you think, and right now you think that if you stay far enough away from me that you'll keep me safe from anything Kallini might do to hurt me. Right?"

          The officer looked away, and Blair's grin softened. "Jim, I promise you, he's not going to sneak out and kill me when you're not looking."

          The Sentinel looked back at him, and Blair sobered at the worry that stood naked in his friend's eyes. "How do you know that, Chief?" He started to pace, carefully staying several paces distant from the anthropologist. "You said yourself that he's in there, waiting for me to weaken, and he'll start peeking out like I did when he had me caged! Well, I'll tell you, he'd kill you without a second thought, and I won't risk that!" He turned and stared at the grad student, his jaw rigid.

          Blair smiled, his chest tightening at the words and the passion behind them. "Jim, don't you see, that kind of protection is what makes it impossible for him to touch me? Besides, I didn't say he was waiting for you to weaken, I said that eventually he'd find a way out if he wasn't integrated back into your self. But his 'escape' isn't a matter of days, it's a matter of weeks, Jim, and he's not going to have weeks. And it's not like he could do it without your knowing, anyway."

          "I did," the detective said softly, looking at him with haunted eyes. "I crept out without him knowing."

          "I know," the shaman answered, working to keep his tone calm. "But I told you he's not the same as you. He's a construct, whereas you're a whole person, remember? He can pose a danger down the road, but not like you were to him. He can't shove you back down again, Jim, any more than he can hurt me, now or ever."

          Jim looked at him, then turned and stared across the room. "I wish I could believe that, Chief," he whispered.

          "Jim."

          The Sentinel turned reluctantly, and Blair met and held his eyes. "Jim, come here, please."

          His partner shook his head. "No."

          Blair stood, still holding his eyes. "Jim. Trust me. Please." _This is important. If he doesn't trust what I say about Kallini, then he'll give him too much power and integrating him will be way harder._

          Jim hesitated, the muscle jumping in his throat, "Chief, damn it–"

          "Trust me!"

          Jim heaved a sigh, then took a slow step, two, until he stood in front of Blair.

          "See?" his friend grinned. "Not that hard, is it?"

          "Sandburg–"

          "Jim, you're not going to hurt me, okay? Believe me."

          Jim hesitated. The only way to stop Blair was to agree to that, but he couldn't lie. "All right," he growled at last, aware he was leaning on his trust for his Guide not just for his own life but for his partner's as well. "I believe you."

          Blair chuckled, then held out a hand. Jim stared at it for a long moment, then reluctantly took it.

          But if his grip was loose, Blair's wasn't, and the shaman pulled him forward before he could resist, drawing him into a warm hug before the Sentinel could jerk away.

          Jim felt his restraints melting in that warmth, and couldn't halt the automatic response as he folded his arms around his Guide, holding him tentatively.

          "Good," Blair said cheerfully as he released his friend. "And now, uh, can you microwave spaghetti?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Captain Turner examined the man thoughtfully as he stood across the Bull Pen, noting the warmth in the blue eyes, the relaxed lines of his face, and the easy security he wore like a second skin, and nodded to himself. No, this was definitely not James Kallini, and he could understand Simon's shock at the thought that James Ellison might turn bad. This man radiated a discipline and a drive that he could respect, and he smiled as he watched yet another pair of officers descend on him with hearty congratulations.

          "Some party, huh, Renn?" Simon commented as he halted by his friend, a glass of punch in hand. He, too, looked happier and more relaxed than he had the last time the other captain had seen him.

          "Oh, yeah," Turner agreed, taking in his friend's complacent smile as he watched Ellison deal with the next several well-wishers. "This is a great way to end a Monday. You gonna introduce me?"

          Simon grinned. "Yeah. Come on." He led the way over to the slightly harried looking officer, who greeted the African American with some relief and looked a little warily at Renn.

          "Jim, this is Renn Turner, my friend down in Lacovue," Simon said, looking keenly at his detective.

          Ellison held out a hand, which the captain shook firmly. "So you're the one I have to thank for Simon's finding me," he said, meeting Turner's gaze frankly. "I owe you for that."

          "Just glad that I could help," Renn answered, his smile growing as he decided he liked the man. "But if you don't mind my asking, I know that you're back on the job, since that's what we're all celebrating, but… What did the Board say?"

          Jim shrugged, his smile twisting. "Basically that since I wasn't in my 'right mind' that I can't be held responsible for my actions."

          "That and the fact that he came back and did his job when he recovered," Simon rumbled, his gaze proud on his friend. "Seems the doctor found evidence of a bruise under the skull, and that, added to what the psych people found, was enough to exonerate Jim. They even put him up for a commendation."

          "I don't deserve that," the detective said, with the air of a man who's repeating himself. "I just did my job, that's all. Should've done it earlier," he added softly.

          "It's not like you had a choice, Ellison," Simon responded, frowning at the man. "After all–"

          "Cut it out, Simon!" the officer snapped, then winced. "Sorry, sir. But between you and Blair, I really don't need to hear that again."

          "Where is the kid, anyway?" Simon asked, frowning.

          "He had PT for the shoulder, said he'd be here after that."

          "And there he is, too," the Major Crimes captain commented, nodding at the door.

          Jim turned, and Renn saw the tension in his shoulders relax slightly. "Excuse me."

          The other two watched as he made his way over to the young man who'd just entered, and Renn raised an eyebrow at the wild hair only slightly tamed by the ponytail. "Blair?" he questioned in a low voice.

          Simon nodded. "Blair Sandburg. He's a police observer who works closely with Jim and was very instrumental in bringing him back."

          "You sound like you're reading a report," Turner retorted, grinning. "Pretty close, are they?"

          "Oh, yeah," Simon answered soberly. "Excuse me, Renn, I need to talk with them for a moment; help yourself to the refreshments."

          "Sure," Renn said easily, watching as his friend made his way over to the two, speaking briefly before waving them into his office and closing the door. Turning, he wove his way toward the long table loaded with food. "I never turn down refreshments…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Once inside his office, Simon walked around to pull open a drawer, glancing back at the two men facing him. "Jim, I know you turned this down," he said, extracting a large sealed envelope and handing it to his friend. "But I thought that you deserved it, so I accepted it in your name."

          Jim looked down at the envelope for a long moment, then slowly inserted a finger under the flap and tore it open, sliding out the two stiff sheets of paper set inside. Blair leaned over and read them, then glanced up at his partner, his eyes shining. "That's cool, man! A letter of award and a certificate – that's great."

          "Look in the envelope," Simon urged quietly.

          Jim slipped his fingers inside the pouch, withdrawing a small bar that gleamed in the light, which he stared at in silence.

          "It's a medal for his dress uniform," Simon explained to Blair, who blinked, then nodded, his gaze fixed on his partner.

          "I don't deserve this, Simon," Jim said softly, looking up at his captain. "Kallini–"

          "Was a crook," the captain said flatly. "But you weren't, Jim. Don't confuse the two of you. Even Renn, who didn't know you, didn't make that mistake when he met you. You're a cop, and a good one. You came back in, did your job, brought down a major drug and weapons dealer and several of his contacts, allowing us to make inroads into some areas we haven't been able to touch for years. That's something to be proud of, and you deserve this. Don't you forget it."

          Jim looked across at him, then nodded, his shoulders lifting in a deep breath. Simon saw his eyes lighten, and from behind the Sentinel Blair nodded to him with a smile.

          "There's only one thing," the detective said, glancing from Simon to the grad student. "I saw who was brought in on that bust where we caught Lindir, and there's someone missing. Deren Richards," he said in response to the captain's sharp look.

          "The guy you booted from first lieutenant?" Blair asked.

          Jim nodded, and Simon frowned. "We'll put out feelers on him, but if he ran, well, at least he's out of a job."

          "Yeah, but–" The officer shook his head, then shrugged. "He was out to kill me, Simon, and I don't think he's going to stop just because it's inconvenient."

          Banks' forehead wrinkled. "That's not good, Jim. Are you sure?"

          "Pretty sure. He'd tried twice, and he's not a guy to let it go, especially now that he knows I was a cop."

          "Was he the one who shot you the day I was there?"

          Ellison nodded, a shadow touching his eyes. "I– Kallini thought you might've done it, but wasn't sure."

          "That was why you were more ready to shoot him than you might otherwise have been," Blair commented.

          Jim's gaze dropped, and he nodded.

          "Ellison, it's over. Don't worry about it."

          The detective grimaced, then nodded. "Yes, sir. It's just going to take a while, that's all."

          Simon nodded too, then braced himself. "I want to say something, too." He set his shoulders and continued before either man could break in. "I was out of line, to both of you, and I'm sorry. I can't take back what I said, but–"

          "Stop right there." Blair's reply beat Jim's by a bare second, and the Sentinel closed his mouth. "Simon, you were mad because you cared, right? About both of us."

          The African American hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah, I was, but–"

          "No buts," Blair said, seeing the man blink as he threw his words back at him. "You were there for us both all the way through, and it was a stressful situation. Besides," he added, rubbing his nose, "I said a few things I wish I hadn't, too. Suppose we just say that we're all even, and go on from there?"

          Jim met Simon's gaze and nodded, seeing the lines crinkled at the edge of the captain's eyes ease somewhat as the tension faded.

          "All right," Simon answered, his voice low. "I appreciate that, both of you."

          "Good!" Blair said, turning back toward the door. "And now, let's go eat! I didn't get lunch 'cause I was waiting for the PT, so I'm starving!"

          "You're going to eat that stuff, Chief? This I have to see."

          "Me, too," Simon agreed, following them out. "Me, too."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Are you ready?"

          Jim hesitated, then nodded, his back set against the couch. _Why does the Chief have to do this kind of thing on the floor every time?_ "I guess so."

          Blair looked at him. "What is it, man?"

          "Nothing. Let's do it."

          The shaman shook his head, the wild hair rustling around his shoulders, glinting in the lamplight. "Nope. Come on, Jim, talk to me. What about this bothers you?"

          The Sentinel was silent, then said softly, "He's so strong, Chief. What if I can't… integrate him again? He's not going to want to, you know."

          "Any more than you do?"

          Jim ducked his head. "Damn it, Sandburg, Kallini is everything I don't want in myself; why in hell should I want him back?"

          Blair studied him for a long moment, his eyes holding that deep, mysterious light that Jim was beginning to think of as his shaman look. It wasn't quite as bad as Incacha's had been when he'd lived in the jungle, but it was getting there.

          "Why did you create Kallini?"

          Ellison shrugged. "I needed a story, someone to be when I went undercover." His gaze slid away from the questioning look and he sighed. "He had to be smart, but not dangerously so, and he had to be able to think and talk like a drug dealer or an assassin or a bodyguard."

          "Was it hard to do?"

          "No," the detective answered, searching his memory. "No, I knew what kind of person would fit in that community, and I just took it from that."

          "And how much of it was you?"

          Jim hesitated, caught between memories of Kallini-then and Kallini-now.

"Well…" he hedged.

          "Back then, Jim. How much of Kallini was you?"

          "I gave him what I could do, for the most part," the officer answered. "Not much else."

          "That's right," Blair repeated. "Not much else. Jim, he's a shadow of you, nothing more. A shadow of your anger and determination, of your drive, of your loyalty. But there will be times when you'll need to pull on all of that to get something done, and that's all that integrating Kallini does – put those resources back where you can use them again, like picking puzzle pieces off the floor where they've fallen and putting them back on the table with the rest of the puzzle. That's all you're doing, man."

          "Oh," Jim replied, his face clearing. "Why didn't you say that before?"

          The shaman rolled his eyes. "So, you ready?"

          "Yeah," Ellison responded thoughtfully. "Yeah, Chief, I am. So how do we go about this?"

          "It's a matter of spirit, man," Blair replied, his eyes twinkling. "So, where do we go?"

          "Huh?"

          "Hey, Jim, he's part of your spirit. So where do we go to call him back? Just say the first place that comes to mind, don't think about it! Where do we go?"

          "The jungle," the Sentinel responded automatically, then blinked at his Guide. "Why 'm I answering this question?"

          "Because it's yours to answer, man, not mine. Now close your eyes."

          Jim stared at him for a moment, then at the shaman's glare he sighed and closed his eyes. Blair shifted position, then music started to play, soft drums mingling with the screech of birds and the soft rush of water.

          "You're standing in the jungle, Jim. See the vines and trees around you, the sky above you. You hear water rushing by in a riverbed, and insects buzz nearby, circling in a fall of sunlight. The earth is soft and rich under your feet – feel it. Your toes sink into the cool loam, and baboons bark above you. You can smell the water, and the earth. Where are you, Jim?"

          "In the jungle," the Sentinel answered softly, unwilling to interrupt the life he saw, heard, felt around himself.

          "Good. Turning around, you find yourself on a path."

          He did. Clear and distinct, it wound off through the trees and brush.

          "All right. The path will lead you to–"

          "Aren't you coming?" Standing where he was, firmly rooted in another place and time, the question didn't sound strange.

          There was the smallest hesitation, and then Blair answered, "Yeah, I am. Take my hand, Jim."

          He didn't need to think about it, just reached for his friend, his hand closing on Blair's with a surety that he could feel startled the Guide. Caught up in the vision, he knew what to do without being told, and it only took one strong tug before his partner stood beside him.

          Blair blinked and glanced around, but Jim didn't have time to deal with his startlement. Something was calling him, and he turned to lope down the path, hearing his Guide's soft footfalls behind him. Sometimes he could swear that they shifted into the padding of paws, but he didn't look back. If Blair did mutate into his spirit guide on occasion, he didn't want to know about it.

          Whatever drew him was stronger now, and somehow he wasn't too surprised to turn a curve and find the temple waiting for him. He slowed to a walk and paced forward, his gaze on the black panther stretched out on the altar stone. Behind him he heard his partner stop, and although he wanted to glance back at him, he found he couldn't.

          Fear danced through him and was gone, his eyes locked with those of the panther as it rose and stretched, its huge paws only inches from him when he finally stopped, facing it and unable to turn away as it shifted, the panther body stretching and enlarging until he faced it in his own shape.

          It stepped down from the altar stone, moving to face him. Kallini was draped over its shoulder, and Jim couldn't halt the shudder that shook through him as he looked at the man.

          "What do you fear?"

          Jim swallowed. "What he– I did."

          "What do you fear?"

          Damn. Wrong answer. He dug deeper. "I fear myself."

          It held out the limp figure. "Take him, then, accept the fear, and be who you are."

          Jim tried to swallow again, but his throat was sand-dry. He lifted Kallini, and, caught in the panther's eyes again as it transformed back to animal shape, held the man close, his own revulsion a suddenly distant thing.

          The form he held abruptly twisted in his arms, and the panther rose, springing from the altarstone and merging as one being with Kallini, both diving into Jim's chest.

          He started, falling to one knee as a maelstrom of emotions and memories crashed through him, too fast for any particular one to register. It was over in a moment, and he took a breath, then pushed himself to his feet and turned to look for Blair.

          His partner sat on the stump of a giant tree at the edge of the clearing, sharing the space with the wolf, both of them studying Jim with the same calm interest.

          "Do you mind?" the Sentinel asked, somewhat rattled by the dual gazes.

          Shaman and wolf exchanged glances, each holding the other's eyes for a long moment, and then Blair turned back to Jim, sliding from his perch in one fluid movement. "Ready to go?"

          "Uh, yeah," the older man answered, the words rather absent as he glanced back at the stump and found it empty. He opened his mouth, then closed it, deciding he really didn't want to know.

          "No, you probably don't," his Guide agreed as he moved up to join the Sentinel. "Let's go home." He reached to take Jim's hand, flashing a grin at his unsure look. "My turn."

          He tugged the man forward a step, and Jim jerked in a breath, the couch suddenly solid behind him. The CD had ended, and he lifted his arms in a stretch, reveling in the solid quiet that underlay his thoughts.

          Blair reached over to flip out the CD and inserted another, tapping the play button before glancing back to his partner. Soft piano sounded under his words. "How d'you feel?"

          Jim looked at him and slowly smiled, warm contentment bubbling through him. "Good, Chief. I feel good." He paused, thinking of the temple, and the panther, and Kallini. "I think… I think I understood that." He nodded slowly at Blair's questioning look. "Yeah. When Kallini and the panther leaped into me, everything that was his before became mine – memories, feelings, you name it." He took a deep breath, relaxation seeping through him. "It's all right now, Chief."

          Blair looked at him and grinned. "Yeah, man. It is."

 

The End

 

[1] See earlier story in timeline, _The Underside of the World_ , published in _Sensory Overload #3_.

[2] See previous story, _Truth is the Only Reality_ , published in _Sensory Overload #5_.

[3] Crossing the Edges of Reality

[4] See previous story in timeline, _Truth is the Only Reality_ , published in _Sensory Overload #5_.

[5] See earlier story _Crossing the Edges of Reality_ , published in _Sensory Overload #4_.

[6] See _The Underside of the World_ , published in _Sensory Overload #3_.

 

  
%MCEPASTEBIN%


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